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“ESSE qUAM VIDERl" 


Rob’t Clarke & Cq. Publishers, CIn’tl, O. 



Copyright, 1880, 
liY ROBERT CLARKE c'l: CO 








AS AN 


i 

I 


EXPRESSION OF EVER GROWING LOVE, 

THESE LETTERS ARE DEDICATED TO 




The Memory of iv hose beauty^ b7'ightness and love of Truth 


HAS BEEN THEIR CHIEF INSPIRATION. 



CONTENTS 


1. Theresa to Jeannette, D , May 10, 18— 1 

2. Theresa to Jeannette, D , May 14, 18— 4 

3. Jeannette to Theresa, Blueberry Hail, May 16, 18— 5 

4. Theresa to Jeannette, D , May 20, 18— 7 

5. Theresa to Jeannette, D , June 1, 18— 9 

6. Jeannette to Theresa, Newton, June 14, 18— 14 

7. Madame Berenger to Theresa, Provence, Chateau de la 

Belle Monte, June 5, 18— 16 

8. Jeannette to Madame Berenger, Blueberry -Hall, June 9, 

18— 17 

9. Grace to Theresa, Blueberry, June 9, 18— 21 

10. Madeline to Theresa, Blueberry, June 9, 18 — 23 

11. Theresa to Jeannette, D , June 18, 18— 24 

12. Theresa to Mr. Pinkerton, D , June 16, 18— 26 

13. Theresa to Jeannette, D , June 20, 18 — 27 

14. Mr, Pinkerton to Miss Theresa Lamark, Pinkerton Place, 

D , June 18, 18— 28 

15. Theresa to Jeannette, D , June 21, 18— 28 

16. Mr. Pinkerton to Miss Theresa Lamark. Pinkerton Place, 

D , June 24, 18— 29 

17. Theresa to Jeannette, D , June 26, 18— 30 

18. Theresa to Jeannette, D , June 30 18— 31 

19. Mr. Pinkerton to Miss Theresa Lamark, Pinkerton Place, 

D .June 30, 18 34 

20. Theresa to Jeannette, D , July 2, 18— 35 

21. Theresa to Grace, D , July 4, 18— 39 

22. Theresa to Madeline, D , July 5, 18— 42 

23. Theresa to Jeannette, D , July 10, 18— 43 

24. Jeannette to Theresa, Blueberry, July 6, 18— 44 


25. .Jeannette to Theresa, Blueberry, July 9. 18— 46 

26. Jeannette to Theresa, Newton, July 13. 18— 48 

27. Jeannette to Theresa, Blueberry, July 26, 18— 49 

28. Theresa to Jeannete, D , July 20. 18 — 50 

29. Madame Berenger to .Jeannette, Chateau de la Belle Monte, 

Provence, July 6, 18— 52 

(iii) 


IV 


CONTENTS, 


30. Theresa to Madame Berenger, Blueberry, July 30, 18—. ... 54 

31. Violet to Theresa, Pinkerton Place, D , August 7, 18—.. . 56 

32. Theresa to Violet, Blueberry Hall, August 18, 18— 56 

33. Madame Berenger to Theresa, “La Belle Monte,” August 

15, 18— 57 

34. Theresa to Madame Berenger, Blut.'berry Hall, August 24, 

18— 60 

35. Madame Berenger to Theresa, “ La Belle Monte,” Septem- 

ber 6, 18— 65 

36. Theresa to Madame Berenger, Blueberry, September 16, 

18— 66 

37. Dr. Berenger to Tlieresa, Paris, October 3, 18— 68 

38. Theresa to Dr. Berenger, Blueberry Hall, October 6, 18—... 68 

39. Dr. Berenger to Theresa, Paris, October 13, 18— 68 

40. Theresa to Violet, Blueberry, October 13, 18— 69 

41. Theresa to Jeannette, Paris, October 23, 18—.. 70 

42. Grace to Jeannette, Paris, October 26, 18— 74 

43. Theresa to Jeannette, Paris, October 26, 18— 78 

44. Theresa to Jeannette, Paris, October 27, 18 — 80 

45. Theresa to Jeannette, Paris, October 28, 18— 84 

46. Theresa to Jeannette, Paris, October 31, 18 — 86 

47. Jeannette to Theresa and Grace, Blueberry, October 30, 


18— 89 

48. Violet to Theresa, Pinkerton Place, October 25, 18— 91 

49. Captain Haughton to Violet, Port P., India, August 6, 18—. 94 

50. Grace to Jeannette, Paris, November 2,-18— . 97 

51. Theresa to Jeannette, Paris, November 2, 18— 99 

52. Theresa to Violet, Paris, November 2, 18—.. 102 ' 

53. Grace to Jeannette, Paris, November 3, 18— 103 

54. Theresa to Jeannette, Paris, November 5, 18 — 105 

55. Theresa to Edwin Lisle, Paris, November 4, 18— .• 110 

56. Edwin Lisle to Theresa, Paris, November 5, 18— 112 

57. Theresa to Jeannette, Chateau de la Belle Monte, Prov- 

ence, November 10, 18— 113 

58. Grace to Jeannette, Chateau de la Belle Monte, Provence, 

November 12, 18— • 116 

59. Madame Berenger to Jeannette, Chateau de la Belle 

Monte, Provence, November 15, 18 — 118 

60. Jeannette to Theresa and Grace, Blueberry, November 18, 

18— 121 

61. Grace to Jeannette, Chateau de la Belle Monte. November 

19, 18- 123 

62. Theresa to Jeannette, Chateau de la Belle Monte, Prov- 

ence, November 25, 18— 126 

63. Violet to Theresa, Pinkerton Place, November 26, 18—. . . 130 

64. Jeannette to Theresa, Blueberry Hall, November 26, 18— . 132 


\ 


CONTENTS. 


V 

65. Rev. Edward Lacy to Theresa, Blueberry Hall, November 

26, 18- 185 

66. Jeannette to Grace, Blueberry Hall, November^?, 18— . . 188 

67. Theresa to Jeannette, La Belle Monte, December 2, 18—. . . 140 

68. Theresa to Jeannette, La Belle Monte, December 4, 18—. .. 141 

69. Grace to Jeannette, Sisteron, December?, 18 — 148 

70. Theresa to Jeannette, Nice, December 24, 18— 147 

71. Madame Berenger to Jeannette. Nice, December 28, 18—.. 149 

72. Theresa to Jeannette, Nice, December 29, 18— 151 

73. Jeannette to Theresa, Blueberry, December 29. 18— 153 

74. Theresa to Jeannette, Nice, December 30, 18— 154 

75. Theresa to Jeannette, Nice, January 2, 18 — 155 

76. Theresa to Jeannette, Nice, January 4, 18—'. 157 

77. Jeannette to Theresa, Blueberry, January 6, 18 — 159 

78. Theresa to Jeannette, Nice, January 13, 18— 160 

79. Jeannette to Theresa, Blueberry, January 12, 18— \ . 163 

80. Theresa to Violet, Nice, January 12, 18.. 164 

81. Theresa to Jeannette, Nice, January 12, 18— 166 

82. Theresa to Jeannette, Nice, January 18, 18 — 168 

83. Edwin Lisle to Theresa, Paris, January 8, 18—' 169 

84. Madame Berenger to Jeannette, Civita Vecchia, January 

22, 18- 170 

85. Theresa to Jeannette, Naples, January 25, 18— 173 

86. Theresa to Jeannette, Naples, January 27, 18—.. 175 

87. Violet to Theresa, London, January 23, 18— 178 

88. Grace to Jeannette, Naples, January 28, 18— 180 

89. Madeline to Theresa, Blueberry, January 20, 18— 181 

90. Jeannette to Theresa, Blueberry, January 20, 18— 183 

91. Jeannette to Theresa, Blueberry, January 22, 18— 187 

92. Theresa to Jeannette, Naples, January 30, 18— 190 

93. Jeannette to Theresa, Blueberry, February 2, 18 — 192 

94. Grace to Jeannette, Naples, February 5, 18— 197 

95. Jeannette to Grace, Blueberry Hall, February 7, 18— 199 

96. Jeannette to Theresa, Blueberry Hall, February 9, 18— 200 

97. Theresa to Jeannette, Naples, February 13, 18 — 203 

98. Violet to Theresa, London, February 5, 18— 207 

99. Violet to Theresa, London, February 7, 18— 210 

100. Theresa to Violet, Naples, February 14, 18— 211 

101. Grace to Jeannette, Hotel Diomede, February 17, 18— 213 

102. Theresa to Jeannette, Hotel Diomede, February 18, 18— . . 215 

103. Jeannette to Theresa, Blueberry Hall, February 21, 18—.. . 219 

104. Theresa to Jeannette, Naples, February 29, 18— 222 

105. Grace to Jeannette, Naples, March 4, 18— 225 

106. Violet to Theresa, London, March 1, 18— 228 

107. Grace to Jeannette, Naples, Mafeh 6, IS— 233 

108. Mr. Windemer to Miss Lamark, Naples, March 6, 18— 236 


vi CONTENTS. 

109. Theresa to Violet, Naples, March 10, 18— 237 

110. Jeannette to Grace, Blueberry, March 13, 18— 238 

111. Miss Lamark to Mr. Windemer, Blueberry, March 14, 18—. 289 

112. Grace to Jeannette, Naples, March 23, 18— 240 

113. Theresa. to Jeannette, Naples, March 24,18— 243 

114. Mr. Windemer to Jeannette, Naples, March 29, 18 — 244 

115. Violet to Theresa, London, March. 12, 18— 245 

116. Jeannette- to Grace, Blueberry, April 3 18— 248, 

117. Grace to Jeannette, Naples, April 8, 18— 249 

118. Grace to Jeannette, Naples, April 10, 18— 253 

119. Grace to Jeannette, Naples, April 20, 18—. 255 

120. Dr. to Madame Berenger, Ostica, April 16, 18— 256 

121. Dr. to Madame Berenger, Palermo, April 18, 18— 257 

122. Jeannette to Grace, Blueberry, April 17, 18— 258 

123. Dr. to Madame Berenger, Palermo. April 20, 18 — 259 

124. Madame Berenger to Jeannette, Naples, April 25, 18— 260 

125. Grace to Jeannette, Naples, April 29, 18 — 263 

126. Dr, to Madame Berenger, Palermo, April 27, 18— 263 

127. Dr. to Madame Berenger, Palermo, May 4, 18 — 261 

128. Grace to Jeannette, Naples, May 7, 18— 271 

129. Theresa to Grace, Palermo, May 5, 18— . . 272 

130. Dr. to Madame Berenger, Palermo, May 6, 18— 273 

131. Grace to Theresh, Naples, May 7, 18—. 278 

132. Theresa to Madame Berenger, Palermo, May 19, 18 — 279 

133. Mr. Pinkerton to Theresa, Pinkerton Place, April 26, 18—. 28;5 

134. Violet to Theresa, Pinkerton Place, April .30, 18— 286 

135. Theresa to Jeannette, Palermo, May 10, 18—.. 288 


THE LAMARKS; 

OR, 

MARRIAGEABLE WOMEN. 

LETTERS. 

I. 

THERESA TO JEANNETTE. 

D , May 10, 18 — . 

Dear, dearest Janet : 

If I had not promised to- tell you every thing, my 
pride would forbid me to open my heart, for I am 
ashamed that I feel so desolate and disappointed, 'and 
so homesick, that I wonder every hour what frenzy 
could have tempted me to leave you. You know how 
weary I was of every thing about the old place, but 
now it seems to me, if I could but have one glimpse 
of the old quaint house and my little blue room, that 
I should be transcendently happy. The old prim 
things have acquired a charm that would amuse me, 
if I were not so miserable. I would give half I pos- 
sess to hear one of old Auntie’s groans, and hear her 
tell for the ten thousandth time how she did when she 
was young, and how she never would do thus and so 
“ in a thousand years ; ” and what she had done when 

( 1 ) 


2 


THE LAMAKKS. 


she “lived in the old house on the Middlebury cor- 
ner, and how she knew it must be so,” for the year 
before they had lived ‘ ‘ on Shad street, and the year 
after across from Essex Square.” 

Oh, Janet, it seems to me that I never had an 
annoyance or care before in my life, all the things that 
looked so big a month ago, and shut the sunlight out 
of my heart, seem like little nothings now, and the 
sunshine glows all over and around them, and they 
seem far, far off in the times past, and yet it is only 
a few days since I left you. And here I am at Aunt 
Lisle’s! Ugh! Will I ever forget this lesson, and be 
satisfied with God’s blessing in the place where He has 
put me? Aunt Lisle! I wish you could see her just 
once, then words were needless! Old Queen Bess, 
with her fuss and feathers, her ugliness and vanity, 
was a Quakeress beside her. I could see how illy she 
restrained herself when I stood before her in all my 
plainness, covered with dust and confusion. If she 
had intended to confound me by her presence her suc- 
cess was complete. I tras confounded. “Hut tut, 
child,” she said, “ you are tired out. I am sorry your 
Uncle Lisle was not at the station to receive you ; he 
was called away unexpectedly, very unexpectedly — 
extensive business, you know — and it is too provok- 
ing — Amanda Coriander Viola Varicosa (don’t laugh, 
it was almost that bad) has not yet returned, although I 
wrote to her to come before this. She is such a child — 
a mere child — so little head — one must always think for 
her.” Such a day and such a night ! I was weary 
and nervous and heartsick, but I kept smooth on the 
outside ; that was one comfort. 


THE LAMAEKS. 


3 


My hopes wakened as a bright morning dawned 
upon the great town, and the sun cast the close shad- 
ows along the narrow street that my window looked 
out upon. Yet, oh how different from the dear gar- 
den, the trees, the distant fields, the wide dome of 
blue sky over our own dear home! Thinking of Un- 
cle Lisle’s coming made me almost happy in spite of 
my longings, for his portrait on the wall looked so 
quiet, and I fancied so like our precious, precious lost 
mother, that I thought we two could defy Aunt Lisle 
and enjoy many enjoyable things. 

He has come! I almost groaned aloud when he 
touched my hand with the tip ends of his cold fingers. 
The portrait was of thirty years ago ! He looked as 
if the heart had been squeezed out of him. This man 
my adored mother’s brother! He did not say ten 
words, and I wish he had said less. There is nothing 
generous, nothing pleasing about him. His stiff* 
counting-room manners are abominable. I like Aunt 
Lisle the best. I know it is not saying much, but I 
do ! If I just live on from day to day, the time must 
pass at last, but when I think how long I intended to 
stay when I left home my soul sinks within me. Oh, 
Janet ! 

Do write often. My love to Grace and Aunty, and 
to my little Madaline. Now you will be careful, 
dearest, that all R. hears none of this, and that my 
sacrifice shall not be without some compensating re- 
sults. Ever fondly your willful 

Theresa. 


4 


THE LAMARKS. 


II. 

THERESA TO JEANNETTE. 

D , May 14, 18—. 

Dear Janet: 

Why is it that I do not hear from you ? Not a line, 
when a home letter is the only hope of happiness for 
me. Why do you not write ? If you are too busy, 
or not well, there is Grace, or even Aunt, or Made- 
line, might say God bless you. I feel better than I 
did ; the new scenes around me are drawing me out 
of myself ; but in this house I am alone. . When I 
sit by Aunt Lisle, or go out with her, I feel like a tit- 
mouse beside a peacock — a little tame mouse that had 
been caught in a trap. When I eat I feel as if Uncle 
Lisle thought of the cash value of every bite, and it 
sticks in my throat and almost chokes me, though I 
pay for it ! They give me so many instructions as to 
how I must deport myself, that it makes me furious. 
Heaven forbid that I should ever acquire the man- 
ners of those around me. I am a country girl,” you 
must understand, and hence this extreme solicitude. 
Indeed — you know my weakness — I am so much flat- 
tered by their taking me for a. very young lady that I 
do not desire to remove the impression. You would 
open your eyes to see me so demure and so unlike my 
home self. I mean to stay — there is no help for it — 
though my pride is wounded every hour. Tell me what 
to do ? Is it my duty to submit to every thing ? If I 
once begin to assert myself I am afraid of the con- 
sequences. Did you ever think I would be such an 


THE LAMARKS. 


5 


arrant coward ? Do let me hear from you, or I shall 
lose my identity. My music will occupyme after this 
week. I have seen no one worth a word ; but I will 
not be over hasty in my judgments; good and bad are 
mingled every where I kno’w. 

In mercy let me hear from you. 

Fondly, 

Theresa. 

III. 

JEANNETTE TO THERESA. 

Blueberry Hall, 

D , 16 th May, 18 — . 

I am at a loss how to comfort you, my poor, dear 
Theresa. I do pity you from the bottom of my heart, 
and sympathize with all you have had to suffer. I 
tried to prepare you a little, but your enthusiasm was 
deaf and heedless. Mother never did like Aunt 
Lisle, and father did not like Uncle Lisle — they were 
in all things uncongenial ; but that was a long, long 
while ago, and I hoped they had improved — as if liv- 
ing in their world was likely to improve any body. 
Perhaps, when Amanda Coriander comes, it will be 
better. Do not run to such extremes ; always keep a 
little ballast on the other side. You are certainly 
more profoundly hopeless and miserable than is neces- 
sary. I commend you heartily for one thing — that 
is, that you have told me all about it. It did me 
good ; and I kno’w it did you good to unburden your- 
self. I am not without my share of this burden, you 
must remember. To be alone, without your society 
a,nd counsel, is a trial ; but to keep your secret is next 


6 


THE LAMARKS. 


to impossible. Grace sees every thing with her young 
eyes ^^coleur de rose; ” and as long as she can look after 
her poor, gather wild flowers, paint, read and sing, 
and have the parson walk home with her from the 
chapel now and then, thinks every body is so good 
and every thing so lovely. As to Madeline, she is 
provokingly like you, is unchanged, and, I fear, un- 
changeable. She may take, as she will at all events, 
the ups and downs of life as she goes along. May 
she be all the better for it ! Aunt thought it very 
fine, that your frankness was at least flattering, and 
says, when they lived on Shad street, mother took 
you to see her, and she taught you the little verse : 

“ ’ Tis better for a child to die, 

Than live on earth and learn to lie.” 

And she has reason to think you have never forgotten 
it — for even when they lived in Bloomington — but I 
will spare you. 

Now, for more self denial, you must not write but 
once a month. Mr. Kendricks, of course, is angry, 
and in despair. He insisted upon having a private 
interview with me ; but I declined either listening to, 
or disclosing any of your private affairs. What either 
of us knew did not belong to the other, and I should 
neither hear nor speak. If he suspects himself to be 
the cause, he did not say so. Other friends are 
equally vexed and chagrined. If your missives come 
here you might as well be at home. I will go to 
Newton myself to mail and receive your letters. As 
it is such a distance I can not go oftener. All send 


THE LAMARKS. 


7 


their tenderest love, and every body wants to know 
where you are and when you will be home again. 

Your affectionate sister, 

Jeannette. 

IV. 

THERESA TO JEANNETTE. 

D , May 20^/i, 18 — . 

Dear Janet : 

If you only go for my letters once a month, that is 
your own affair. As to my writing no oftener, I shall 
do just as I please, for you can as easily carry back a 
budget as one letter. If I could not write my heart 
would burst with a report like that of the poor 
Frosch Konig.” Next week Coriander will be at 
home, but I do not hope for any thing from that, ex- 
cept that any change must be for the better. She 
can, at least, play second fiddle to Aunt Lisle, and 
leave me free to attend to my music and walk when 
and where I will. There are many interesting things 
here to enjoy, if one had any body to enjoy with, or 
no body to keep one from enjoying. By the way, I 
have never told you any thing about Edwin Lisle — 
their only child — so you may imagine what a marvel- 
ous fellow he is, and what an unfailing topic of con- 
versation we have. He is now upon the continent. 
His father has spent vast sums upon his education, 
and Aunt Lisle expects him to come back polished to 
the last touch, make a brilliant match, and be “ some 
body in the world.” They have just received a letter 
saying that he is tired of travel and is coming home. 
His parents — Aunt Lisle, particularly — seemed much 
chagrined at the news. 


8 


THE LAMARKS. 


I met a lovely young girl at Professor Bandine’s, a 
few days ago — Isabel De Montaine. She has since 
called upon me, and, as they are very elegant people, 
Aunt Lisle seems to think better of me. Yesterday 
Mrs. De Montaine invited me to drive to the country 
with them. How I did enjoy it ! They are very re- 
fined and cultivated — seemed so thoroughly to enjoy 
the beautiful scenery along the river — that I felt 
almost tenderly toward them, warmed up as I was by the 
fresh air and sunshine and verdant groves and fields. 
The sun set across the water, as we turned homeward, 
reflecting the brilliant colors of the sky, and the 
bright spring foliage quivering with life and beauty. 
The deep, soft, living green of every leaf filling my 
heart with gladness, as my hands were full of flowers, 
and I could not but reflect how near the love of na- 
ture brings these human hearts of ours to each other, 
if we keep them pure and open to her sweet influ- 
ences. 

I alighted from the carriage Avith many expressions 
of happiness, which I felt were as cordially and 
frankly returned, and ran into the house, almost 
thinking to lay my treasures in your lap. ‘‘Why, 
Theresa, how red you are ! Take care, your flowers 
will fall on the carpet !” Aunt Lisle exclaimed as I 
entered the draAving room to give her the benefit of 
my enthusiasm ! “I Avill carry them to my room,’^ 
I managed to say, as I hurried on, my soul going 
back into its shell, like some poor snail assailed by a 
pitiless urchin. HoAvever, I made much of my flo Av- 
ers — my little room was bright Avith them and I Avas 
happy in spite of the dull place. 


THE LAMARKS. 


9 


May 22d, 

Selfish as usual, my good sister, I have relieved 
my own heart first; but you will not, must not, 
think me unmindful of your cares. They must be 
legion, with my share added to your own. How- 
ever, I only hope all things will turn out according 
to our wishes, and what we have both determined 
so deliberately to do, may not be without correspond- 
ing results. Of course, nobody must know my where- 
abouts — that would spoil every thing. I will try to 
be very prudent, and trust you fully to manage your 
part of the affair. 

Madeline must not give you a moment’s trouble, or 
she will break my heart. I am sorry you think her 
like me. My love to Aunt. It is delightful to know 
that Grace is bright and happy. I hope to hear from 
her by the next mail. Oh, dearest Janet, must it be 
a month each time? How long it seems to wait. 
Courage, Theresa ! Courage ! 

Fondly and impatiently, 

Theresa. 


V. 


THERESA TO JEANNETTE. 


D , June Isty 18 — . 

Dear Janet. 

Amanda Viola has arrived, and for once I am agree- 
ably disappointed — fortunately my ideal was not an- 
gelic. “To me you shall be Violet,” I cried when 
we were alone — for her eyes are a true violet blue, 
and her hair a fair, light auburn. Her complexion 
is very fair, deepening into a peaohy pink upon her 
cheeks ; on her lips to a perfect rose. How she could 


10 


THE LAMARRS. 


grow up SO pretty under Aunt Lisle’s shadow is a 
mystery to me. I believe she has been like a Upas 
on her character, if not on her physique, for she 
seems the most will-less creature I ever saw. ‘‘ My 
child do this, and do that, and do the other,” and 
she does it without a word, with a sort of sweet child- 
ishness that makes me open my eyes. Her father was 
Aunt Lisle’s half brother. She has lived here since 
she was nine years old, and is, I believe, nearly de- 
pendent on them. Her dress makes me nervous. She 
has not a particle of taste. At home. Aunt keeps her 
as plain as a pike-staff, and when she goes out she 
looks like a small edition of herself — absurd ! The 
little imbecile says, ‘‘ A few things, more or less, don’t 
make any difference, so Aunt Lisle is satisfied ! ” 

June 3d. 

Last evening we were vastly entertained by Mr. 
Pinkerton, a bachelor who seems very profound in his 
attentions to Violet. After he had gone. Aunt said, 
‘‘Is not Mr. Pinkerton a fine specimen of a gentle- 
man of the old school ? So courtly and elegant.” 
“Yes, of the very old school,” I replied, laughing. 
Aunt looked vexed, and Uncle Lisle said, “ A young 
man yet, my friend, very rich. You will treat him 
with the utmost consideration — although you are per- 
haps incapable of appreciating his superiority. He 
will dine with us to-morrow.” All the while we were 
preparing to retire Violet never spoke. “ Why are 
you so quiet, little one,” I said, at length. Was it my 
meek little Violet? “ Will you help me ?” she mut- 
tered. “ Can I trust you — will you help me ?” Her 


THE LAMARKS. 


11 


look of terror and agony alarmed me. “ What is it? 
Of course I will. Help you ? to be sure.” “Hist! 
Hist ! if they ever know, what will become of me !” 
And she burst into tears and sank down upon the 
floor. I begged her to tell me, promising secrecy, of 
course, if that were best for her, and all the aid in 
my power. “ Theresa Lamark, I am engaged to be 
married to that man I” And she buried her face in 
my lap and sobbed as if her heart would break. I 
felt grieved that my foolish pleasantry had given her 
pain, and begged her not to think of it. “ Of what 
you said ?” she cried. “ That is nothing —I love another 
— what shall I do ! What shall I do I ” “ Why then 
engaged to him ? I can not help you unless you tell 
me every thing,” I urged. “ Aunt and Uncle Lisle 
have forced me to do it. Knowing how tenderly 
Edwin loves me, they are determined to have me mar- 
ried to Mr. Pinkerton before he comes home. What 
shaU I do I What shall I do !” “ Why, Violet, re- 

fuse to do it, Tell him you do not love him and will 
never marry him. Just say that you will not do it, 
and let come what will.” “To Uncle and Aunt 
Lisle ? I can not. I dare not. To Mr. Pinkerton ? 
They never permit to me one moment with him 
alone. I should die before I could tell him.” “ Then 
I will say it for you. I am not one jot afraid.” 
“ Then they will know that I have told you. Oh, no, 
no, no I What shall I do ? They have sent for me be- 
cause of these late letters from Edwin. And Aunt 
said in her last letter that you would be mighty glad 
of such a chance, and so would any other sensible 
English woman.” 


12 


THE LAMARRS. 


Poor little Violet — she talked half the night — such 
contemptible maneuvering. I am too outspoken for 
such a game, and the silly child would not listen to my 
betraying the slightest knowledge of her secret. 

Imagine the predicament I was in. Fortunately 
Aunt Lisle called me into her boudoir the next morn- 
ing to tell me of Yiolefs engagement, and to request 
me to encourage and to urge her liking Mr. Pinker- 
ton in every possible way; particularly to avoid 
making such ridiculing remarks as I had made the 
previous evening, for every thing was settled and it 
only made ill feeling. I shut my lips tight and did 
not speak one word. I had promised Violet, and I 
had not yet made up my mind what it was best to do 
— some thing must be done — but intemperate haste 
might spoil it all. Oh, Jeannette, if you were only 
here ! Violet being too ill to be up, I played my part as 
sweet innocent, very well, though I was provoked to 
hear Aunt Lisle whining about the poor little dear. I 
entertained Mr. Pinkerton, and tried to sound him. He 
seemed honestly concerned about Miss Amanda Viola. 
But it is simply impossible to judge any body fairly. 
Here is this poor little woman, scarcely marriageable, 
yet seemingly, a little nonentity, with a smile for every 
body, looking as if she had never had a care or sor- 
row in her life, with this great big canker in her 
heart ; loving passionately, striving to do her duty 
faithfully, and to win the love of Uncle and Aunt 
Lisle, for Edwin’s sake. To win their love ! I almost 
wonder if they have hearts — the milk of human kind- 
ness I am sure they have not — poor little fool even to 
hope it ! What do they care for Violet’s heart or hap- 


THE LAMARKS. 


13 


piness ? Or even for Edwin’s, though he is their own 
flesh and blood ? A rich match for Edwin and a rich 
! match for Violet ! That would aggrandize themselves 
doubly; a prop to lift them up on either side — that 
would be very fine ! Money ! Money ! When the 
ships come and go, and the buying and selling goes on 
! day by day, year in and year out, and men get a little 
rich, and know other people that are a great deal 
richer, there is no end to the things they will resort 
to — I dare say it will be always so, until the last days 
- come. Truly the love of money is the root of all 
evil. If Edwin would only come ! Violet has written 
to him, but he is moving about, and there is little 
hope that her letter will reach him. Violet thinks him 
a redoubtable hero. I have my doubts, for an “ evil 
tree can not bring forth good fruit and considering 
all things, I am far from hopeful. God will bring 
good out of man’s evil. I am thankful for Violet’s 
sake that I am here, for never did a love-lorn damsel 
need knight-errant more. Perhaps my latent genius 
is going to be brought into requisition at last. I wish 
I could get some advice from you ; but this monthly 
mail arrangement of yours is far too slow, for I shall 
speak right out the first time I can see my way clear to 
spoil this plot ; now that Aunt Lisle has spoken to 
me, there will be no betrayal of my promise to Violet. 

I do pray and hope that with our darling Grace, 
the old saw that ‘‘ the course of true love never did 
run smooth,” may be proven false. When I see how 
' this foolish young heart has nursed its early love, only 
' to suffer these wretched pangs, so often the fate of 
women in their tenderest years, I tremble for our 


14 


THE LAMARKS. 


darling. What a vast amount of peculiar sorrow 
marriageable women have to bear. To them belong 
the most exquisite joys of human life, and its cup 
must needs be mingled with life’s in tensest agony. 
When their hearts bring forth the first blossoms of 
love, if it be an experience of disappointment, there 
is no help but just to bear silently. If there be womanly 
pride to help, so much the better, but if with it all, 
the burden is too heavy, ‘‘ He giveth His beloved 
sleep.” For those wayward ones who vill not yield 
them to His will, left to the rude blasts of this mortal 
life, what a great sorrow a woman’s sorrow is. 

Ever, sister mine, your 

Theresa. 


VI. 

JEANNETTE TO THERESA. 

Newton, June 14, 18 — . 

I have stopped for an hour to look over your letters, 
my dearest Theresa, and am astonished at your story 
of Violet’s troubles. You are out of the frying pan 
into the fire. Remember that God’s ministering 
spirits do watch over us — some good angel has taken 

you to D to help poor Violet, when you thought 

you were going to gratify your own whim. I can 
almost imagine them flying liither and thither, pitying 
the maidens of earth in this, their season of love — 
their happiest, and yet their most anxious and too 
often their bitterest time. When we think how many 
young girls, the fairest and loveliest, have passed from 
earth, if not broken hearted, made more fragile, and 


THE LAMARRS. 


15 


sooner blighted by some great heart sorrow, we can 
but feel that they must draw near to and seek to min- 
ister to those who are weeping under the same sore 
disappointment. I have been refreshing myself with 
old Faerie Spenser in your absence, and these beauti- 
ful verses are fresh in my mind. Tell Violet to con- 
sole herself with them : 

“ And is there care in Heaven ? And is there love 
In heavenly spirits to these creatures base, 

That may compassion of their evils move? 

There is: Else much more wretched were the case 
Of men than beasts. But, Oh ! the exceeding grace 
Of Highest God I that loves His creatures so 
And all His works with mercy doth embrace, 

That blessed angels, He sends to and fro 
To serve to wicked men — to serve His wicked foe. 

“ How oft do they their silver bowers leave 
To come to succour us that succour want; 

How oft do they with golden pinions cleave 
The flitting skies like flying pursuivant, 

Against foul fiends to aid us militant I 

For as they fight, they watch and duly ward. 

And their bright squadrons, round about up plant. 

And all for love and nothing for reward. 

Ohl why should Heavenly God to men have such 
regard? ” 

You can act better, dear Theresa, than I can advise. 
Trust your own impulses, and do not be afraid to do 
whatever you feel to be right. Women have a quick 
i way of their own of getting at the root of things. 

] Be pitiful ; be courteous ; but you know the Master 
took the scourge when offended at the wdllful and 


16 


THE LAMARRS. 


wanton wickedness of men. There is too much 
smoothing over and keeping back the truth in these 
days. I have always rejoiced in your quick decision 
and straight-forward way of probing things to the 
core. If you are just and kind to others, you can not 
go wrong if you are true to yourself. 

I have inclosed you a letter from Aunt Theresa, 
father’s youngest sister. It is a godsend if you want 

to leave D , and yet do not wish to come home. 

The angels have a wider range than even our busiest 
thoughts. Our mother never heard from any of 
father’s family after his death. I am glad she has 
written — the note will explain itself. My answer, you 
can forward when you have read it. I thought it best 
to send it to you, you can add a note yourself. 

You will be abundantly rewarded by all these let- 
ters. Affectionately your sister, 

Janet, 

VII. 

MADAME BERENGER TO THERESA. 

Provence, Chateau de la Belle Monte, 

June 5, 18 — 

My Dear Niece: 

I well deserve the regret I feel for allowing my dear 
brother’s children to grow up strangers to me. By 
some strange accident, I met in Paris, two days 
ago, Edward De Montaine, who was in raptures over 
the beauty of Theresa Lamark ! My own maiden 
name ! How many half-forgotten reminiscences swell 
my heart ! Ah, my dear niece, how I long to see you. 
Will you not come to me with your sister? I hear 


THE LAMARKS. 


17 


you two are quite alone in the ^vorld. Will you for- 
give my apparently heartless want of interest ? I do 
so long to have you under my wing, and in some way 
atone for my long neglect, certainly inexcusable, but 
not without palliation. My dear brother was himself 
very negligent about writing, and w^e allow^ed ourselves 
to become estranged. Most of my life has been spent 
abroad — here and there, over the world — wherever 
Dr. Berenger could best advance his scientific studies, 
this being our home for the most part. Write me at 
once, a full account of yourselves ; tell me of your 
past life. I am the last of my family ; my home is 
childless, and I can not tell you how fondly my heart 
yearns for you. I hope, indeed, that you wdll come 
very soon and stay with me as long as will be agreea- 
ble to you, that we may in some measure make up for 
this much to be deplored, lost time. 

I send this note to your home, for thus it will surely 
reach you. 

Ever, my dear namesake, with my husband’s regards, 
and affectionate greeting. 

Your own auntie, 

Theresa Lamark Berenger. 

VIII. 

JEANNETTE TO MADAME BERENGER. 

Blueberry Hall, June 9. 

My Dear Aunt : 

Your kind note has given me much pleasure, and 
as Theresa is from home, I will at once respond to it ; 

2 


18 


THE LAMARKS. 


her acknowledgment must necessarily be more tardy, 
and I would not pain you for a moment by any delay, 
for my heart is full of tenderness and gratitude for 
your expressions of affection, warmed as it always is, 
by the thought of every thing that was near and dear 
to our precious father. 

Much as we have ever regretted the little interest 
our dear father’s relatives seemed to take in us, we 
have always sympathized entirely with our darling 
mother’s very proper pride, in not seeking to remind 
them of our existence ; still, she always spoke kindly 
of them and taught us to feel that circumstances, 
rather than want of heart, often estranged those who 
should not be strangers to each other. Her charitable 
lessons seem indeed to be true. Dear mother was 
sensitive and high spirited, and always preferred to 
circumscribe her pleasures and her cares within the 
narrow bounds of domestic life, mistrusting the world 
beyond. 

We lived very happily in Middlebury during dearest 
father’s life-time. I was only seven years old when he 
died, and yet I remember so many things vividly, that 
I can scarcely realize I was so young. So many, many 
years have passed, I often wonder that he seems so 
near and dear to my heart — nearer and dearer every 
year that I live. It is a strange feeling that I can 
not describe, only those who have felt it . can know 
what it is. When he died he was not older than I am 
now. I shall be with him bye and bye and know 
him ! The older I get the nearer the time approaches. 
When I remember how tenderly he loved his little 
ones, I long for power to express my love for him and 


THE LAMARKS. 


19 


I 

those he loved in his childhood^s home. Theresa was 
only four years old when those sad days came, so that 
in her loneliness, I seemed to share poor mother’s grief, 
and to acquire a sort of childish maturity that was, 
perhaps, necessary to fit me for the waiting cares of 
after life. Dear mother ! how she suffered in those 
dreadful years. Five years we lived alone, then 
she consented to become the wife of Mr. Barton — his 
home, where we now reside, was beyond the town of 
Middlebury. What a paradise it was to us, with its 
great garden and wide fields. He had long been a 
warm friend of father’s, and our great comforter 
through all our lonely days, and when mother told us 
Blueberry was to be our home, we were very happy. 

Here our little sister Grace was born, and we en- 
joyed every blessing, when death again robbed us of 
our protector — our beloved second father died after a 
short illness. The shock was too much for our pre- 
cious mother — three months later, after giving birth 
to a little daughter, she expired, leaving us stricken 
and astonied with grief. With her last breath — with 
the tenderest and most consoling and inspiring words 
of confidence and abiding faith, she gave our little 
sisters to our care, bade us all follow in the footsteps 
of the precious Master, as she had striven to do. We 
named the little one Madeline — her own dear name — 
and Theresa, with all the devoted energy of her nat- 
‘ ure, reared her with the tenderest care ; our country 
home, with its pure air and many luxuries, made her 
labor of love less anxious, and here we have since 
lived ten years, striving to prove faithful to those 
farewell commands, and to repay the debt of grati- 


20 


THE EAMARKS. 


tilde we owe not only to her, but to the father of these 
dear girls, who was in every thing, truly a father to us. 
Grace is now just eighteen — this is her birthday — 
almost too lovely and pure for earth, with her light 
golden hair, her soft pearly complexion, and bright 
eyes reflecting the very azure of heaven — eyes that 
have scarcely ever shed a tear — with our watching 
and warding, cherishing and indulging through all 
the years of her young life. 

If childhood’s trials are necessary to fit one to bear 
the griefs of womanhood, we have sadly erred ; but 
thus far all has been well, and we can only pray and 
trust that God will henceforth keep her from all 
sorrow. 

Madeline is a bright, interesting child, very dear to 
us. As to Theresa, I am glad strangers think her 
handsome, to me she is very beautiful. Naturally tal- 
ented, she has enjoyed every advantage of education ; 
cultivated, earnest, warm-hearted and truth-loving. 
What more could one wish for? Yet feeling every 
discord, because her ideals of truth and beauty are 
too exalted for this common-place, jarring world of 
ours, she never has been fully satisfied even when hap- 
piest, and must, I fear, look beyond this world for a 
realization of her hopes. She is from home for the 
first time. A maiden sister of Mr. Barton’s, who has 
been our protectress from the first, with the two 
younger girls, constitute our family — a feminine com’ 
munity ! 

I hope I have not proved tedious ; you will remem- 
ber I have but responded to your request. I shall 
always be happy to hear from you, and know that 


THE LAMARKS. 


21 


Theresa will be rejoiced that you have cared to find 
us out. It may be that she will gladly avail herself 
of your kind invitation to come to you. I am home- 
bound, cannot leave my household. 

May we ever hope to see you here ? 

With regards to Dr. Berenger, 

Affectionately, your niece 

Jeannette Lam ark. 


IX. 

GRACE TO THERESA. 

Blueberry Hall, 

Jane 9th, 18 — . 

This is my birthday, dear sister — my eighteenth 
birthday. I want to tell you, once again, how much 
I love you, and how much I thank you for your ten- 
der care — you and dear, good sister Janet. I hope I 
shall be able to help you henceforth, and make my 
womanhood useful to all around me, repaying, at 
least, a little part of the great debt of gratitude I owe 
for all the bright, cloudless days of my life. Made- 
line and I took a long walk this morning, down past 
the mint spring, through the red oaks, down to the 
meadow, to where old Madge lives, giving her our 
birthday remembrance, turning back and coming 
home by way of the parsonage. We gave the gar- 
dener our cowslips and bluebells to plant by the 
hedge. Mr. Lacy joined us, for sister had invited 
him to our birthday nooning. We followed the 
beautiful beck, dancing along in the sunlight, over 
the white pebbles. Oh, Tesa, dear, it was so lovely 1 
My heart was so full of joy for every blessing. The 


22 


THE LAMAEKS. 


ewes, with their beautiful lambs, cropped the tender 
grass ; the doves and white pigeons peered out from 
the green leaves of the hedges, or came slanting 
down from the blue sky, like great flakes of shining 
snow, to our very feet. The sweet notes from the 
wilder birds rippled out from their hiding-places ; 
when we came too near they darted quickly away. 
All nature so full of life and beauty. And so we 
reached the churchyard. Our dear pastor, always so 
thoughtful and considerate, went into the chapel, 
while Madeline and I wreathed our fragrant lilies 
amid the dear graves. The child, so bright, and yet 
so full of tenderness, making good resolutions for the 
time to come. I so prayerfully happy. My heart so 
full of love to the heavenly Master. The white spire, 
with the golden cross, seemed to say, for the means 
of grace,’^ and to point to the hope of glory.” I won- 
dered if this world was so beautiful to every maiden 
on her eighteenth birthday ? I hoped so, I am sure. 
Yet, who has ever had such loving sisters as mine have 
been to me ? Mr. Lacy came to tell us that it was 
already late. Sure enough, we soon caught sight of 
Janet, waving her scarf from the porch, and there, 
too, was Aunt Eachel, in her best cap, awaiting us. 

The day ended as happily as it began. And my 
new prayer book, Mr. Lacy’s gift, my lavender robe, 
Janet’s kindness, with veil and scarf to match from 
Aunt and Madeline, are on my divan now, to assure 
me that it was not all a dream. 

The beauties of nature are shrouded in darkness, 
now — the lesser beauties, I mean. The stars are bright 
without and very beautiful, but, somehow, the heart 


THE LAMARKS. 


23 


can not get near to them as it can to the humbler 
works of nature around us — those that we can touch 
and taste, and hear and smell, as well as look upon. 

I bid you good night, sister mine, for I mean to ex. 
tinguish this poor light and look out upon the night 
before I sleep. Farewell, darling sister, I know you 
will ever love Your foolish 

Grace. 


X. 

MADELINE TO THERESA. 

Blueberry, June dth, 18—. 

Gracie says I must send my Mamatesa a little 
letter in hers. This is my first real letter to somebody^ 
real far off ; for I think you must be real far off to 
be away from us so long. I can not tell how many 
people ask me where you are, and ever so many ques- 
tions I can’t answer. I am ashamed to know so little 
about my own Mamatesa. Even Mr. Lacy said to- 
day, ‘‘Well, Madeline, do you know where youi 
runaway sister is yet ? ” And Mr. Kendricks, although 
he would not so much as ask it, wants to know, for 
he looks like it. And Mr. Blaire gives me sugar 
plums, and thinks ever so many things, and we are 
great friends. One day he said, Madeline, you must 
tell your sister not to forget her old friend. 

Mamajay thinks I ought to be willing to know as 
little as other folks, but I am not as good as Grace. 
Mr. Lacy said this morning, down by the beck, that 
she was as good as an angel ; nobody ever told me I 
was, but Mamajay says I am just like you. Did any 


24 


THE LAMARKS. 


body ever call you an angel ? I could tell you a heap 
about the chicks and ducks and calves and every thing, 
but this is a holiday, because of Gracie’s birthday, 
and I don’t mean to spend it all on a letter. 

Your dear little Madeline. 

XI. 

THERESA TO JEANNETTE. 

D , June 18, 18 — . 

Dearest Janet: 

Nothing could have been more opportune than 
Aunt Theresa’s letter. I actually ran away and cried 
for thankfulness. “ Surely the angels good, do watch 
us carefully.” I will take advantage of her kindness, 
and leave here as soon as I see Violet out of this per- 
secution. Uncle Lisle has told her that his fortune is 
barely enough for Edwin, who shall never marry her, 
and has flatly said, unless she marries Mr. Pinker- 
ton within a month, he will send her to a French 
convent before she is of age ! Is it not atrocious ? I 
mean to write a note to Mr. Pinkerton, for her, my- 
self. I have waited patiently all this time ; not a 
word has been heard from Edwin, and what else can 
be done ? I will inclose you a copy of my note, and 
of his answer, when it comes. 

Do thank dear, dear Grace and my darling Made- 
line for their letters. I was sorry to miss the birth- 
day. Madeline’s was a brave little letter indeed 
— her first letter ! I shall put them both among my 
treasures, and soon send responses to them, and for 
your encouragement and words of confidence, sister 
mine, I thank you from my heart ; they did me a 


THE LAMARKS. 


25 


[ world of good. I shall feel that I am trusting you 
i rather than myself, when I go right on in the way I 
I think right now. By the way, I did not write a line 
j to Aunt Theresa ; after the flattering account your dear 
I love gave of me, I prefer to let my reputation rest 
! upon that. 

Oh dear, Janet, I have just returned from Uncle 
Lisle's library ; I wish I could tell you all he said : 

‘ ‘ Theresa, my dear Theresa, I think you have much 
influence with AmandaViola, our dear brother’s child.” 
Bah ! I could hardly help saying it — but he went on 
in the same strain, to tell how such a young girl would 
be saved from all the rude blasts of the w’orld, by hav- 
ing such a protector as old Mr. Pinkerton, and to beg 
me to urge her to comply with his best knowledge as 
to what w^as for her happiness and respectability in 
the world, and to urge her to banish her foolish notions 
about love and all that sort of childish nonsense. I 
was scarlet from the soles of my feet to the roots of 
hair; indeed, Janet, I w^as so vexed that I can not 
remember half he said, but I did not trust myself to 
speak one word, until he coolly dismissed me, as though 
he. expected me to do just as he said. I w’as so discon- 
certed by his coolness that I did not w^onder that poor, 
meek little Violet was ahvays dumb before him ; how. 
ever, I turned at bay : ‘‘ Uncle Lisle, I can not do it. 
I do not think Violet’s happiness w^ould be secured by 
such an incongruous marriage ; I have not lived long 
enough myself to believe in the childish nonsense of 
love ; true love may be rare, but I believe in it — and 
Violet should not thus be shut out from all hope of 
such a blessing. She is very young, give her time at 
least to know her own mind ; when she has seen some- 


26 


THE LAMARRS. 


thing of the world, and met with disappointment, she 
may gladly accept such shelter — now it is worse than 
death to her/' He turned fiercely upon me, and dis- 
missing me with a scornful gesture, said : “I thought 
you a sensible woman, Theresa Lamark, I find you as 
silly as Amanda Viola herself ; I trust you will have 
honor enough, at least, not to interfere with my affairs 
while you are under my roof — you understand me — 
if my ward is encouraged in her opposition, I shall 
find means to remove her from improper influence.” 

I can leave his roof quickly enough, but I do not 
mean to, and leave poor Violet to his tender mercy. 
He has Violet with him now, and is doubtless pouring 
his wrath against me, on her defenseless head ; her 
mortal terror makes me heart sick. I had not time 
for even a word with her. Aunt Lisle took her in 
the library as I came out. Is it not equal to the Span- 
ish Inquisition? I wish I could hear oftener from 
you. 

I add a copy of the note I hastened to send after 
these interviews. 

Yours ever, 

Therese. 


XH. 

THERESA TO MR. PINKERTON. 

June 16. 

Mr. Pinkerton : 

Will you pardon one so much a stranger, for ad- 
dressing you? I write for my friend Violet, who is 
in such distress that she is quite unable to express her- 


THE LAMARKS. 


27 


Self. I do so all the more willingly as I am convinced 
that one of your chivalrous feelings would shrink 
from inflicting pain upon one so young and innocent as 
she. In permitting herself to be engaged to you, she 
feels that she did you injustice, but she dared not 
refuse the imperative command of her guardian, 
and even now the threat of incarceration in a French 
convent is held over her unless she marries you imme- 
diately. It can not be possible you want a wife on 
such terms! Can you pardon my frankness? Can 
you not, in this hour of her utmost need, prove a pro- 
tector, oh I so much needed ? She begs me to tell you 
not to let Uncle Lisle know that I have written. 

Believe me not only Violet's, but 

Truly your friend, 

Theresa Lamark. 


XIII. 

THERESA TO JEANNETTE. 

D , June 20ih. 

Dear Janet : 

We have not yet heard from Mr. Pinkerton. Is it not 
strange ? I feel more solicitude every hour lest there 
be some new trouble. It is useless conjecturing, but 
we can scarcely help it, and all my sympathies are 
roused for Violet. She is almost beside herself. Will 
he insist on her keeping her promise ? Will he take 
part with Uncle Lisle, or will he be generous ? If 
she could only hear from Edwin, or her brother, 
alas, way off in India I Poor child, does she not 
seem friendless and helpless ? If Mr. Pinkerton just 


28 


THE LAMARKS. 


leaves her to Uncle Lisle’s mercy, I shall insist upon 
taking her home with me. But why plan, or even 
wish. If we could just hush up our fears and let 
things wear along, ready to do our best when the 
time to act comes. Oh, it would be so much better 
— that is, simply trusting in God ! Oh, there she 
comes ! Yes, the note at last! 

Yours ever, 

Theresa. 

MR. PINKERTON TO MISS LAMARK. 

mh. 

Miss Lamark : 

Your opinion of me is certainly very flattering, but 
I think you must be mistaken in regard to the state 
of Miss Amanda Viola’s feelings toward me. I will 
arrange the matter with her uncle, and will be 
obliged if you will refrain from any further inter- 
ference in an affair of so private and delicate a nature. 

Yours, respectfully, William Pinkerton. 


XV. 

THERESA TO JEANNETTE. 

D , June 21st. 

Dear Janet : 

What do you think of it ? It certainly shuts me up 
in a very civil, but very hateful way. I feel more 
and more vexed, and more and more determined to 
fight for Violet, every time I read it. There is some- 
thing underhand here. Something I despise more 
than any other one thing in this world. I more than 
suspect it, especially as Mr. Pinkerton very rarely 


THE LAMARRS. 


29 


comes in now, and never when we are at home. 
Poor Violet is lying on the bed, crying fit ^ to break 
her heart. I can’t make up my mind just what I 
ought to do ; if you were only here ! Adieu, for the 
nonce. 

Yours fondly, 
Theresa. 

2M. 

After waiting two days for “ something to turn 
up,” and being afraid, every day, that Mr. Pinkerton 
would just drop in, and Uncle Lisle would give his 
victim away, without any more ado, I sent Mr. Pink- 
erton another note, by a trusty hand, couched in 
these words: ‘‘You must pardon what may appear 
to you an unpardonable liberty, but I write to beg you 
to request an interview with Viola Haughton, that you 
may learn, from her own lips, the truth of the state- 
ments 1 made in my former note to you. Be assured 
that nothing but my keen sympathy for an injured 
and unhappy girl could so far overcome my pride as 
to tempt me again to address you. 

Thehesa Lamarr.” 

Now, Janet, this is his answer, I am in a high 
state of indignation, I assure you : 

Miss Lamarr : 

I feel justly indignant that a stranger should pre- 
sume thus to press unwelcome facts — if they are facts 
—upon my attention. This is my affair. I shall cer- 
tainly inform Mr. Lisle of Miss Violas imprudence in 
making you her confidante, and of the liberty you 


30 


THE LAMARRS. 


have taken in addressing me. If I need any further 
counsel, I will call upon you. Yours, with respect, 
William Pinkerton. 

Yours, truly, Theresa Lamarr. 
XVII. 

THERESA TO JEANNETTE. 

June 2Qth. 

After this note, I was so vexed and indignant that 
I was about to pack up Violet and myself and elope I 
Still, I did not want to go home so soon again. I could 
not take Violet with me to Aunt Theresa’s, nor did I 
want to run to her in such hot haste ; besides, we hoj^ed 
every hour to hear from Edwin, and I did not like to 
acknowledge myself outwitted, so I determined to play 
my part and watch the game, hoping to checkmate 
them in the end. I was greatly puzzled by a call 
from Mr. Pinkerton, to-day. Uncle and aunt were 
cordial — he, bland and civil as if nothing had hap- 
pened, and apparently surprised at my haughty cool- 
ness. I was as stiff as a gentlewoman could be, in self- 
respect. Neither aunt or uncle left the room, and I 
determined to keep my temper, and for Violet’s sake 
to wait a fittiug time to speak, for speak I shall ^ 
sooner or later. The time is painfully short ; they 
talked of final arrangements to-day — only a few inti- 
mate friends are to be present. Mr. Pinkerton has 
requested that his bride’s trousseau be completed in 
London, where he will take her immediately. They 
did not mention the day in either Violet’s or my hear- 
ing — that looks ominous to me. So here we all are, 


THE LAMARRS. 


31 


playing our part. Poor little Violet said to me, a 
while ago, ‘‘Oh, Theresa, dear, never mind! never 
mind I you can not do any thing more ; just let them 
do what they please. I always have been just a waif, 
to be thrown from one to another at every whim I ’’ 
And so she groans and moans, and talks. I do get 
out of patience with her want of character. Why 
don't she just stamp her foot, and say I ivon't; and 
then let them make the best of it — but she isn't 
made that way, and if she did run away from Uncle 
and Aunt Lisie, and Mr. Pinkerton, where would she 
go? They are all ready to eat me up, for they know 
they could do what they please with Violet, now that 
Edwin and her brother are away, if I were not here. 
All this to face, with no help from Violet ! I know, 
too, that it is none of my business. If it had not 
happened that I am here — unluckily for them — but — 

“ My place is wherever my duty is clear 
And therefore my place at this moment is here,” 

and I mean to do my best. Do you wonder that I am 
in a bother ? Good night. Courage, Violet ! Cour- 
age, Theresa ! Courage ! 

XVIII. 

THERESA TO JEANETTE. 

June SOth. 

I have done it, Janet ! lo triumphe ! I wish you 
could have peeped in — three times times three for 
dear old Mr. Pinkerton ! How can I tell you ? It 


32 


THE J.AMAKKS. 


was at lunch— Mr. Pinkerton had dropped in — Uncle 
Lisle was wonderfully amiable — aunt wonderfully vol- 
uble ! Mr. P bland and courteous and quiet as 

usual. Violet started up from her abstraction, when I 
said suddenly, ‘‘Mr. Pinkerton, I owe you an apology 
for two notes I have written you ; you have seen fit to 
doubt the statements I have made ; if Violet is so 
much afraid of Uncle and Aunt Lisle, that she will 
not tell you the truth in regard to her feelings toward 
you, it is but just to me that she tells you, here in the 
presence of Uncle and Aunt Lisle, that I wrote the 
truth — at her request.” Violet cried out, “It is all 
true — every word of it is true — all true ! What shall I 
do ! What shall I do ? ” and ran out of the room. 
Uncle Lisle was as pale as a ghost, and aunt, blazing 
with passion. They had both tried to stop me, and 
were actually on their feet ordering me to leave the 
room, but I was too determined for that, and looked 

straight at Mr. P until I had said the last word. 

He stared at me in blank amazement — never moving 
or speaking until Violet had spoken and disappeared. 
“Miss Lamark, I do not understand all this, what 
does it mean?” “Ah! the -notes were sufficiently ex- 
plicit,” I replied. 

“Mr. Pinkerton, my dear friend, there has been 
enough talk — that girl is ridiculously romantic and 
fond of scenes. Theresa, we wall excuse you and Mrs. 
Lisle, I can explain every thing satisfactorily.” 

“ Excuse me, Mr. Lisle, one moment, first,” Mr. 
Pinkerton said, “ Miss Lamark, what notes do you 
refer to? I never received a note from you.” I 
turned and looked first at uncle and then at aunt. ‘ ‘ It 


THE LAMARKS. 


33 


i may be Uncle Lisle can ex^ilain it. I received two 
I notes from you, with your own signature.” ‘‘My 
! signature ! That is very singular ! Can I see them ? ” 
I “ Certainly,” I said, “ and copies of those I sent you, 
also, if you choose.” “If you please — you will 
oblige me. Very strange! Very singular! Who 
I would dare to tamper with my signature — my name ? ” 
I heard him ejaculating, as I left the apartment. 

! What transpired in my absence I can not tell, but 
when I came back. Aunt Lisle had disappeared. Mr. 

I Pinkerton arose to meet me, extending his hand. “ I 
am very much obliged to you. Miss Lam ark. Although 
I I do not fully understand my own position, I can see 
that it is certainly false and dangerous. You have 
given me an opportunity to extricate myself — I thank 
you with my whole heart.” Uncle arose to speak. 
“Never mind, Mr. Lisle, never mind, sir! No ex- 
' planations are necessary — these notes will explain 
themselves. I will reflect on this to-day, and will see 
you very soon,, sir — very soon. Good morning, sir, 
good morning ! ” 

I did not wait to speak to Uncle Lisle, nor did I 
want to meet his wife, so I ran to Violet, and begging 
her to take her hat and veil, we slipped out into the 
fresh air, and after a long walk, came home refreshed 
and half over our scare. We are determined to hold 
• out to the bitter end, now we have made this grand 
point. Every thing depends upon Mr. Pinkerton, 
now. Even Aunt and Uncle see that, for they are 
I dumb and grum — waiting to see what their “ dear old 


34 


THE LAMARKS. 


friend” has to say, before executing any decree 
against Violet and 

Your romantic 

Theresa. 


XIX. 

MR. PINKERTON TO MISS LAMARK. 

Miss Lamark: 

I thank you for your frankness. It is just what I 
needed. Truth has untied many a worse knot. Mr. 
Lisle has done me gross injustice. I shall demand an 
interview with Miss Amanda Viola, to-morrow — in 
his presence. I thank you again for your notes, and 
assure you your confidence is not misplaced. 

With respect, 

WiLiJAM Pinkerton. 
Pinkerton Place, June 30^/i. 

So far, so good ! It promises well, does it not^ 
dearest Janet? I believe he will prove true to him- 
self and true to Violet. The silly child is still fright- 
ened out of her wits. In vain, I cry courage, and 
talk of hope. ‘‘There is no hope for me. Edwin’s 
love is so far, far off! They will never let him come 
back to me I ” If every thing was congenial, I should 
be successfully at work and tolerably contented, but 
as it is. Aunt Lisle does not speak to me, and my 
Uncle has requested — I will not say ordered — me to go 
home at the earliest opportunity. If I were an invited 
guest, enjoying their hospitality without any compen- 
sation, I should certainly have felt obliged to do so 


THE LAMARKS. 


35 


ere this, notwithstanding my desire to aid my little 
friend ; but as it is, I shall stay as long as it suits my 
own convenience. When Violet is ‘out of their toils, 
I will go to x\unt Theresa. Good night. 

Yours fondly, 

Therese. 


XX. 

THERESA TO JEANNETTE. 

D , July 2d. 

Oh, Dear Janet ! 

I am almost in love Avith dear old Mr. Piukerton, 
myself, and will not Avonder if Violet throAvs herself 
in his arms in very gratitude. He has done his part 
royally. Although Uncle Lisle insisted upon his 
excusing Violet, “ Avho is not feeling very Avell,” Mr. 
Pinkerton insisted upon seeing her. And Violet says 
she never felt so grateful to any human being in her 
life. He actually inspired her Avith courage ! When 
she entered the library, there sat Uncle Lisle, look^ 
ing his sternest, and there sat her lover, apparently 
lost in reA’^erie. She trembled like an aspen, as she 
silently moved toAvard them, feeling that her very 
life depended on the issue. Looking up as she dreAv 
near, Mr. Piukerton arose, extending his hand, 
Young lady, I hope you Avill pardon me if I have 
caused you pain. I did not mean it. I hoped to be 
able to make you happy,” he said, tenderly. She 
burst into tears, of course, and was dumb — could not 
utter a word. ‘‘ It is only a childish bit of folly,” said 
Uncle Lisle. It AA^ould be best to dismiss 
her to her room, and do that Avhich Ave deem most to 


86 


THE LAMARKS. 


her advantage.” “ Nay, nay,” said Mr. Pinkerton, 
this touches me, very nearly. Miss Viola, do you 
wish to be my wife?” She shook her head, and then 
cried out, ‘‘No, no, no!” “ Then, my dear,” he 
said, very calmly, “ it shall never be.” How still 
she stood, and how she raised her blue eyes, I can 
imagine. “ I said, so foolishly ” — to tell you in Vio- 
lets own words — “ how can it be helped ?” “ Helped ! 
Am I still in my minority, and is Mr. Lisle my 
guardian ? I foolishly fancied you might love me, 
forgetful that every young heart has some willful 
love of its own to engross it. I have loved and been 
loved. I respect the love of others. You do not 
know, sweet girl, that I loved your mother when she 
was young, and fresh and fair, as you are to-day. I 
have loved you for her sake. Aye, for your own, 
too. You are the impersonation of her image, as it 
has existed in my heart for five and twenty years. I 
thought I could make you happy. That you might 
love me as she once loved, forgetful of all the trace 
time has left on me. Yes, I can see now how 
strangely foolish it was, this last romance of an old 
man. An unwilling wife I Ah, never ! That would 
be a sore sorrow to me. I do not reproach you, sweet 
girl. The dream has been a happy one. So happy 
that I can not regret my blindness, nor the treachery 
of one I deemed my friend, save that it has given 
you pain. The dream has vanished. I see clearly 
now — painfully clearly. You are free. I have long 
since learned that the heart will be free in spite of the 
trammels men and women will put upon lives. Heart 
answereth heart. And he who would hush these 


THE LAMARKS. 


87 


pleadings sins against man and against God. You are 
free. God bless you with the love of a true heart, 
worthy the fullness of your own love, all the days of 
your life.” “ I knelt and kissed his hand, thanking 
him fervently. He raised me up, kissed my cheeks, 
my brow, my lips. I dared not look at Uncle Lisle. 
I ran aw^ay and came to you. Oh, Theresa, w^as it 
not noble ? Is he not noble, good and true ?” 

Dearest Jane, it was noble, and, indeed, if such 
be his true character, I do think better of Uncle 
Lisle. Perhaps he did honestly think Violet would 
be happy under the protection of such a man. If I 
have done him injustice, I am ready to ask his par- 
don, but still my heart tells me he is thoroughly self- 
ish. There is no doubt as to the double-dealing car- 
ried on to prevent Mr. Pinkerton’s knowing how 
averse Violet was to becoming his wife. It has been 
a great outrage — grossly unjust to both Violet and 
Mr. P. And I can not yet see much excuse for it, 
and still less for the way it has been done. Violet, 
like a very child, has forgotten, for once, how far off 
Edwin’s love is, and how far off India is, she is so 
thankful and happy for this release. 

There ! They have sent for her again. All the 
old terror came back. What can it be,” she cried, 
“ I thought it was all over. May not Theresa go, 
too?” “Never mind, little one,” I said, “They 
,will send for me, perhaps. You need have no fear, 
now, that the clouds have all cleared away.” And so 
she has gone down once again. I wonder what it is ? 

They did send for me, dear Janet, and great good 
has come out of it all, though contrary to the expecta- 


38 


THE LAMARKS. 


tious of every body. Violet is to be transferred to 
Mr. Pinkerton’s guardianship. His sister, who lives 
with him, will be a most proper person to watch over 
her. They live quite alone, and Mr. P is de- 

lighted that he can so far contribute to her welfare. 
Uncle and Aunt are equally happy to be relieved of 
their charge and to have her separated from Edwin, 
which was, indeed, their object in the whole matter. 
Unless the young man’s love is strong enough to over- 
come all the obstacles they put in his way, he is surely 
lost to Violet, and it is, doubtless, just as well; but it 
would be a sorry, silly suggestion to make to the poor 
girl jusf now — let her hope die slowly, when some- 
thing better is springing up in its place. Uncle Lisle 
will arrange his affairs, and with his wife, join Edwin 
at once on the continent, where they will keep him, 
if possible, long enough to make him forget his first 
love. 

I will be a father to you, sweet girl ; you shall be 
my child, will you trust me?” ‘‘You? Yes — I am 
very, very grateful ; I will try to repay your generous 
kindness,” and as he held her hand, pressing it to his 
lips, the tears of her mother’s lover fell faster than 
her own. 

When Uncle Lisle, with feigned affection, made 
some expression of regret that Violet’s little inherit- 
ance was entirely exhausted in her education, Mr. 
Pinkerton cast a withering glance at him, “Mr. 
Haugh ton’s fortune was supposed to be ample when 
he left his wife and little ones to your care.” As uncle 
paled under his steady gaze, he went on, “That does 
not matter now — it will be my pleasure to provide for 


THE LAMARKS. 


39 


her in every way. I certainly do not requke or desire 
any pecuniary assistance from you. As you anxiously 
stipulated, in our former arrangement, let the matter 
stand now and forever — and God judge between you 
and this little girl.” Janet, do you wonder I can not 
like Uncle Lisle ? 

I can not tell you how thankful I am. I would 
not trust Edwin or her brother with her happiness 
half as soon. Violet will be a sunbeam in their quiet 
home if his sister is as good and true of heart as Mr. 
P— . 

I must say farew^ell ! All this has absorbed me too 
much. I will stay here until my term has expired, 
now that this storm is over. Violet will remain as long 
as I do — meanwhile, they will be getting ready for their 
journey abroad. If you think it best, I will go with 
them and make a visit to Aunt Theresa, without going 
home — provided I conclude from her next letter that 
it w^ould be agreeable to her. I wish I could look in 
upon you and see how our hopes prosper, with my 
own eyes. I will write to Grace and Madeline, that 
they may get their letters at the same time you 
receive this. 

Ever yours, 

Theresa. 


XXI. 


THERESA TO GRACE. 


D , July 4ih, 


Dear Sweet Grace: 

I did not think it would be more than a month after 


40 


THE LAMARKS. 


your birthday before I should thank you for your 
lovely letter. I am very thankful that it was such a 
happy day to you, and only wish I might, in some 
way, have added to your pleasure. Never mind, 
dearie, when the next summer time comes round, I 
shall doubtless be with you, and have a share in mak- 
ing you happy, even happier than you were that 
beautiful June day. Have you read these exquisite 
lines? Your keen enjoyment of nature that day 
reminded me of them : 

What is so sweet as a day in June? 

Then, if ever, come perfect days; 

Then heaven tries the earth, if it be in tune, 

And over it, softly, her warm ear lays; 

Whether we look or whether we listen, 

We hear life murmur, or see it glisten. 

Every clod feels a stir of might— 

And instinct within it, that reaches and towers — 
And grasping blindly above it for light. 

Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers; 

The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice, 

And there ’s never a leaf or a blade too mean 
To be some happy creature’s palace. 

The little bird sits at his door in the sun. 

Atilt like a blossom among the leaves, 

And lets his illumined being o’errun 
With the deluge of summer it receives; 

His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings. 

And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings. 
He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest. 

In the nice ear of N ature, which song is the best ? 

Is it not lovely, darling Grace? Exquisitely tender 


THE LAMARKS. 


41 


and beautifully expressed ? We are wont to think that 
nothing very fine or grand can come to us over the 
far waters from the new world that will one day out- 
strip us, perhaps — but beautiful prose and poetry from 
yon western wilderness might often charm us if we 
would open our ears and our hearts to receive it. 
This vision of Sir Launfal is more beautiful than I can 
tell you — it is your birthday gift from me — which I 
shall bring when I return. 

I have had some pleasures here, but often long for 
home. When I have gratified some importunate de- 
sires, I shall gladly rejoin you. I have improved in 
two ways — in my music and my love for home. There 
is a sort of halo over every thing there that I mean to 
keep bright in my heart when I get back. No place 
is half so dear to me as Blueberry Hall — no friends so 
precious as those who dwell there. There my duties 
shall henceforth be my pleasures. Little sister, I hope 
you will never be such a dreamer as I have been, and 
may you never be less happy than you were on this 
eighteenth birthday. Indeed that day seems to me 
only a sort of exponent of all your eighteen years! 
Your good, grateful heart is one of God’s best gifts. 

‘ Wea, a joyful and pleasant thing it is to be thank- 
ful.” A grateful heart is a well-spring of joy ; and 
when such a heart is fixed, as I feel yours is, on the 
bright inheritance above, then indeed is it thrice blest, 
and can never be cast down. 

God bless you forever, darling, and may guardian 
angels ever watch over you, chasing away every 
shadow that may cross your pathway in the journey 


42 


THE LAMARKS. 


of life, and may He bless all those who love and help 
to make you happy. 

Ever, darling, your fond sister, 

Therese. 


XXII. 

I was delighted with your letter, my precious little 
Madeline, and* only wish it had been longer. Next 
time tell me about Sucky and Rednose, and don’t 
forget Billy and Bob, and my pet Jewel. Nobody 
has said a word of him since he sang me '' farewell.” I 
have not heard such sweet notes since. Give him a 
worm for me every day. Pet Tip ! I have not seen 
his equal, nor a Tabby as sleek and fair as ours, in 
all my travels. Don’t neglect any of them, and don’t 
give sister a moment’s care, or trouble aunty 
with your wild pranks. As to your inquisitive 
friends, tell them your runaway sister is well, and 
happy to get away from all of them. Eat all the 
sugar-plums they give you, if Mamajay thinks they 
are not enough to make you sick. I can not com- 
fort you by telling you that anybody ever called me 
an angel ; but I hope you will be a dear, sweet, good 
girl, and then you will be an angel when God’s time 
comes. And remember, dearie, you must in every 
thing be better than 

Your ever loving, 

Mamatesa. 


THE LAMARKS. 


43 


XXIII. 

THERESA TO JEANNETTE. 

July 10th, 

I close my montnly mail, dear Janet, with a word 
of love to you. All goes smoothly with us now. 
Aunt says Edwin is waiting for them in Paris, enjoy- 
ing himself vastly, without a thought or desire of 
coming home — that is intended to settle Violet. They 
will go in a short time. What do you think of my 
going to Aunt Theresa with them? You will look 
over these, and drop me a line immediately from 
Newton. Love to all. I pray and hope that all goes 
well with you. 

Edward DeMontaine is back from Paris ! I am 
more than ever anxious to go to France. He says 
both Aunt Theresa and Dr. Berenger are charming ; 
that Auntie was quite overcome when she heard my 
name, and is extremely anxious to have me with her. 
If I go before they leave Paris, Uncle Lisle can 
transfer me at once to their care, and there will be no 
trouble. I really think I had better go, although I 
am pained to go further away without seeing you all. 
At times I think it an impossibility, but now that I 
have gone thus far, I had best persist in my resolu- 
tion, to extend my absence to some months. 

Ever, fondly yours, 

Theresa. 


44 


THE LAMARKS. 


XXIV. 

JEANNETTE TO THERESA. 

Blueberry Hall, JulyQ , 18 — . 

Mr. Lacy has gone ! Has resigned his cJiarge and 
gone to one of the southern counties, accepting a 
living at St. Vincent De B., near S. Dear Theresa, 
what do you think of it ? I have seen that he was 
growing daily more reserved and saddened, seemingly 
somewhat out of health, but he has never spoken of 
going away, until Sabbath morning, after the service 
was finished. He seemed much affected, bidding his 
congregation farewell. Xot withstanding a most 
earnest and tearful remonstrance, he left us the next 
day, having previously obtained permission and made 
all his arrangements to do so. No one knows what has 
led to this sudden determination, unless you do. The 
whole parish is astonished and grieved. There must 
be something beyond any thing I have hitherto sus- 
pected. Can you understand what has induced him 
to go thus hastily away? 

Grace is unusually quiet and reserved. I can see 
that she is deeply distressed, but she always has one 
of her sweet smiles ready when I make any sugges- 
tion or request, and goes from one occupation to 
another as though she could not trust herself to be 
idle. I have not, indeed, left her one moment to 
herself, seeking to divert and interest her. I fancy 
she does not look well, but with native art she keeps 
her woman’s secret hid away, she thinks, from every 
one, while I, with my woman’s heart experience, see 


THE LAMARRS. 


45 


it all too plainly, feigning ignorance all the while. 
And so the purest and most honest of us play our 
parts. I am vexed, disappointed and chagrined at 
this sudden and unexpected misfortune, for, taking 
every thing into consideration, I can not look upon it 
in any other light. 

Aunt thinks it very wrong for a pastor who has the 
love and confidence of his whole parish to leave 
them, no matter what his reasons may be, or how 
willingly the bishop might consent to the change. 
The bishop certainly has not desired him to make it, 
or Mr. Lacy would have stated the fact to his par- 
ishioners, begging, as they did, to know why he left 
them. 

Madeline is very voluble, and told Mr. Lacy, when 
he came to say good-bye, that she thought him very 
unkind to go, and was sure Mamatesa would be very 
sorry to find a strange priest at the parsonage when 
she came back. I wish you would write to me at once. 
Will you come home, or will you go to Aunt Theresa ? 
It would not be expedient, perhaps, for you to come 
at once, but I really feel now that I could not be sat- 
isfied to have you go further away without first com- 
ing to us for a little while. I will go to Newton in a 
few days — rather earlier than usual. I am, perhaps, 
more impatient to hear from you than you from us. 
This is a poor substitute for a good talk, face to face. 

What do you think of plans — human plans and 
worries to arrange things thus and so, according to 
short-sighted human purposes? Was there ever a 
greater weakness in this world? We always say, 
“Man proposes but God disposes,” but why don’t 


46 


THE LAMARKS. 


some of US begin to practice some of these wise pro- 
verbs? Think of Violet ! They have been trying— 
are managing her into matrimony — and you and I 
think it is dreadful! The Fountain-head of all wis- 
dom tells us to take the beams out of our own eyes 
first. We had better do it, Theresa. It makes me 
nervous to think how we have put our heads together 
to bring about devices too far beyond us. Blueberry’s 
housewife will keep close to her every-day duties 
henceforth. It is the best thing in the world for 
some people to have their hands and their heads full 
of practical duties — there are not many mistakes made 
in these things. 


XXV. 

July 9th. 

It is three days since I wrote that last line, dearest 
Theresa, and yet I feel as if I had not laid down my 
pen, for the same old thoughts have been running 
through and through my brain, incessantly, ever 
since. Let us make, now, with this lesson fresh in 
our minds, a solemn resolution to cease striving for 
our own ends, and leave every thing to God and his 
angels — Christian duty demands it. These ideas of 
duty are too vague in our minds — we are forced at 
last to bow to His holy will ; can we not do it wil- 
lingly and cheerfully, without first exhausting every 
possible means to have our own way? If we could 
but stop looking into the future, and wanting to do 
things ahead, and do our best and be our happiest, 
day by day, looking to, and leaving every thing to our 
Divine Master. Oh! would it not be far better? 


THE LAMARKS. 


47 


Half of our troubles, and more, are borrowed. We 
are afraid something will happen ; or we have some 
crude short-sighted purpose we want to bring about, 
and so we make up sorrow, anxiety and disappoint- 
ment, from mere ideas — fears powerless to' distress us 
unless we wickedly give them power over us. It is a 
wise proverb of the Germans, “first to do that duty 
which is nearest to us.” 

If we could but submit cheerfully to God’s will, as 
it comes to us hour by hour in the duties of every-day 
life, enjoying the good, and patiently bearing the evil 
— with perfect trust in the love of Him who is over 
and in it all, believing the soul-cheering words He has 
spoken to us — declaring that His love for us surpasses 
the love of an earthly parent — would not every place 
and every condition be almost heavenly ? I have gone 
to wonderful Dante, to find his beautiful lines regard- 
ing submission to the Divine will — perhaps you have 
forgotten them. It is the reply of the Spirit in one 
of the lower circles of heaven, to Dante’s query, as to 
whether the longing for the higher regions of Heaven 
did not disquiet them : 

Oh, brother, love, blest love so calms our will, 

We know not what it is to thirst for more, 

And full contentment every heart doth fill. 

To loftier regions did we wish to rise. 

Our wishes would with Ilis discordant be, 

Who, for our portion, gives these lower skies. 

For ’tis essential to our state of bliss 
To keep our wills within the will Divine, 


48 


THE LAMARKS. 


That ours may be identified with His, 

And hence, though diverse are the seats we fill, 

All are content as is the King benign 
Who moulds our hearts according to His will. 

Our peace is in His will, . . , 

Then was it clear to me that every place 
In Heaven is Paradise. 

Is it not beautiful and helpful, Theresa ? Might not 
thus every place on earth be almost Paradise ? Ah, 
dear, let us try — helping and strengthening each other 
— to trust with a real trustj that will be a blessing not 
only to ourselves, but to others. We have tried, let 
us try ten fold harder — it will grow. We know we are 
weak — we know we are ignorant and helpless. How 
strange it is that we are unwilling to trust the great 
God — who has promised He will give us all things 
if we will but trust Him. 

Grace and Madeline and Aunt Kachel send their 
love. We miss you more than ever. I am impatient 
to hear from you, and will drive to Newton to-morrow 
or next day at farthest, taking the girls with me. 
The ride will do us all good. 

Ever affectionately, your sister 

Jeannette. 


XXVI. 

JEANNETTE TO THElfESA. 

Newton, July 13, 18 — . 

Many thanks for our full mail, dearest Theresa. 
Grace and Madeline have gone off quite happy to 


THE LAMARKS. 


49 


read their letters. I am truly thankful that Violet^s 
trouble is so happily settled. Mr. Pinkerton must be 
an admirable character. He said wisely, “that hearts 
will be free in spite of the trammels men put upon 
lives.” I hope the foolish child will forget Edwin 
Lisle and be the happy wife of some better man. 
Tell her for me to improve herself spiritually and 
mentally, and in making others around her happy, 
the time will pass along quickly enough, until she 
«ees what the future has in store for her. I wish my 
letters just mailed bore as cheerful tidings to you. 
Don’t let them distress you. Put our good resolutions 
at once into practice. We can not tell what to look 
forward to, but we can trusty and that is no less a 
privilege than a duty. After reading what I have 
written you will probably decide to come home before 
going to France. Still, Aunt Lisle’s going is an oppor- 
tunity almost too good to lose, and I shall make up my 
mind to be entirely satisfied with whatever you de- 
termine is best. 

I shall anxiously look forward to your next let- 
ters. Farewell, with thanks and tender embraces 
from all your loving sisters. 

XXVII. 

JEANNETTE TO THERESA. 

Blueberry Hall, July 26th, 18 — . 

You will be surprised, dear Therese, to hear from 
me so soon again. I must beg you to come to us im- 
mediately. Grace is, I fear, very ill. The doctor 
thinks she has typhoid, which is not unusual here 


50 


THE LAMARKS. 


at this season. She has not been feeling well for some 
days, but only yesterday grew suddenly worse, and 
last night was delirious and alarmingly ill. I do pray 
and hope he may be able at once to check the disease, 
but, as it is her first illness, I am extremely anxious 
and nervous at being without you, and Grace said, 
' ‘ Ah ! if dear sister Tesa was only here I should feel 
more tranquil.” So, dearest Therese, I shall expect 
you at once. You can not imagine how dependent 
we all feel upon you, now that this anxious care dis- 
tresses us. 

Ever, affectionately yours, 

Jane. 


XXVIII. 

THERESA TO JEANNETTE. 

D , July 28th, 

Dear Janet : 

I may reach you as soon as this note, which I send 
directly to. our own letter-office, with directions for 
immediate delivery. I start for home in the earliest 
morning coach. How anxious and distressed I feel 
about darling Grace, you can imagine, though I hope 
your fears are greater than her danger. Violet goes 
to her new home to-morrow. She will be happy and 
well cared for. She would have gone .home with me 
for a short visit, had it not been for this sad news ; 
however, she can probably come at any time. Tell 
darling Grace I long to be with her, and that we will 
soon have her well again. True it is, dear Janet, it 
is easy to speak proverbs, but to practice ! I will 
strive with you to keep nearer the Master. How de- 


THE LAMARKS. 


51 


votedly and unerringly and unfalteringly He followed 
the guidance of the Divine Will. “ Not as I will, 
but as Thou wilt.” If we could but follow approxi- 
mately His perfect way. Oh ! Janet, what would be- 
come of us if it were not for the patience of God, 
What lessons he has taught us in our lives and in the 
lives of others, and, above all, in the life of Jesus! 
What beautiful truths the poets have sung I What 
wise sayings philosophers have written ! How the 
angels watch and ward I How the still, small Voice 
ceases never its warnings I How we have honestly 
striven to do our duty in the light of all this I And 
yet, how many mistakes we make — “how we go 
astray!” God knows “how weak we are and how 
little we know ! ” If He will but pardon our willful- 
ness, and overrule our errors lor the good of those we 
love, we must be grateful and willingly bear the evils 
we have in part brought upon ourselves. 

I thank you for your long, delightful, helpful let- 
ter, received a few days ago, trusting that I may, 
indeed, profit by its wisdom. As to Mr. Lacy’s going 
away, it is unjust to mistrust his motives. He is 
noble-hearted, and always true to himself and to 
others. His keen sense of honor has doubtless been 
wounded ; and, while I feel chagrined at the failure of 
my own designs, I can but admire his promptness and 
spirit. 

It makes my very soul sink within me to think of 
darling Grace. I am in no mood to write. Let us 
forget if we can that we ever tried to — and never make 


52 


THE LAM ARKS. 


au other plan, or never lay another plot as long as we 
breathe. 

I shall be with you at the earliest possible moment. 
Fondly and anxiously, 

Theresa. 


XXIX. 

MADAME BERENGER TO JEANNETTE. 

Provence, Chateau de la Belle Monte, 

July 6tli, 

Your letter delighted me, my dear niece. With 
some sad sorrows and serious cares, you have had 
much to be grateful for, and are living a rational and 
happy life. This seems to be as much as we can hope 
for in this changeful and unsatisfying world. Cares 
and pleasures go along hand in hand all the way 
through life. As none are exempt from care, none 
are entirely deprived of pleasure, unless it be when 
the human heart willfully shuts itself up from the 
bright side of things, until it becomes incapable of 
enjoyment, as the physical eye, long inured to dark- 
ness, is pained by being opened to the sunlight, 
although every object around it may be glowing with 
life and beauty. 

I know, with all your care, you have never been 
unhappy. Your unselfish devotion to duty has insured 
you real happiness. The story of your past life was 
truly touching. Your young sisters must be very 
dear to you ; your tenderness for them is beautiful. 
You are the wise, beloved elder sister. I wish from 
my heart to see you all. Through your love, Grace 
and Madeline are dear to me. 1 love to reflect, when^ 


THE LAMARRS. 


53 


thinking of you, what a blessing a good, faithful elder 
sister is, in a home. I have not yet forgotten what a 
comfort, through all my childhood, our sister was — 
to father, to mother, to all the younger ones. We did 
not know, until we lost her, how much we depended 
upon her. She comforted us in all our sorrows, 
helped us in our tasks, led us in our pleasures; by 
precept and example, teaching us obedience to our 
parents, respect for our elders, and patience and sym^ 
pathy with those that were younger than ourselves. 
Father^s sunbeam, mother’s right hand, our shield 
from temptation and reproof. There is much in every 
home for the eldest daughter to do ; but if a mother 
leaves her little flock, then it is, that her holy office 
becomes more full of care and requires more unselfish 
devotion. Tou have been all this, and more — you 
have been father and mother too, and I am sure, dear 
Jeannette, you have had your reward. 

I had a glowing and glorious account of Theresa, 
from Mr. De Montaine. You can not imagine how I 
desire to see her; judging from your letter, she is as 
good as she is beautiful. He was evidently so over 
head and ears in love that I could scarcely credit his 
testimbnv ; but she must be something worth loving, 
and I am already proud of my namesake. I have 
been hoping to hear from her. 

Dr. Berenger joins me in affectionate regards and 
in urging you to come to us whenever it is possible. 
You said Theresa was free to come at any time. Do 
urge her to come at once. 

With love to your Aunt and sisters, 

Sincerely and affectionately, your Aunt 

Theresa. 


54 


THE LAMAEKS. 


XXX. 

THERESA TO MADAME BERENOER. 

Blueberry, July SOih, 

Dear Aunt Theresa : 

Janet degires me to reply to your kind letter, 
already too long unanswered, as she is weary, and 
indeed almost worn out by nursing our darling Grace, 
who has been very ill. I arrived at home a week or 
two ago, upon a hasty summons, and have been able 
to relieve Janet somewhat ; but her extreme anxiety, 
increased by my inexperience, has prevented her rest- 
ing, even when she might have done so. Your reflec- 
tions as to all that an elder sister should be, have 
been more than fulfilled in ours. She has been, in 
every thing, beyond compare. It always seems to 
me like ‘‘ gilding refined gold” to say words of praise 
of Janet. She has sacrificed every personal advan- 
tage, even the dearest affections of her heart, and has 
stood at her post like Casabianca. She is always 
cheerful, especially so, now that Grace is better, and 
we are all full of gratitude to our Heavenly Father 
for sparing her to us. How weak and foolish we are 
when any trial of our faith comes! Heaven has 
always been much in our thoughts and in our daily 
conversation. We have always been happy in the full 
belief in the happiness of our dear parents there, and 
have often tried to paint to each other the delights of 
a reunited family, when God should take us all to 
them. 

But when the test came the beautiful visions van- 


THE LAMARKS. 


55 


ished ! We could see nothing but the sorrow and the 
dark image of death. Grace, our darling pet, over 
whom we had watched all her life- time, trying to 
screen her from every earthly ill, aye, from the very 
knowledge of the existence of evil, seemed upon the 
very threshold of Heaven. Ah, dear mother, have 
you come for me ? ’’ she said, once in her unconscious 
mutterings. And again, ‘‘Yes, I will come. I see 
the brightness. I hear the music. How exquisite ! 
How beautiful ! — mother — father — oh, the beautiful 
angels! Tesa, darling, do you see?” I shook my 
head — my poor human heart was aching so — my hu- 
man eyes could not stay their weeping. I know all 
our bright hopes are true, but [we shrank from the 
sorrow. How could we give her up, our beautiful 
darling ! It was a strange perverseness, to be so self- 
ish — to be unwilling to have her go where our father 
and mother are, amid all the glories and joys of 
Heaven. For now, that God has spared her to us, she 
lies so pale and weak and suffering in her dark cham- 
ber, that, as I sit watching, I can but feel the con- 
trast between what she must needs bear here, and the 
strength and delight she must have known, had God 
taken her to Himself in those darkest days. 

Yet, now that she is better, it is surely right to re. 
joice and be grateful, if we can but learn that it is 
the same loving Father who would as truly bless 
when His will is counter to our hopes and wishes. 

I have not thought, my dear Aunty, that you may 
not relish my reflections^ but “ Out of the abundance 
of the heart the mouth speaketh,” and I am wont 
to express what is uppermost in my thoughts when I 


56 


THE LAMARKS. 


take up my pen. I had intended frankly to accept 
your kind invitation to visit you, but will not think 
of it for some time to come. We will always be only 
too happy to hear from you and to see you, if our 
quiet home could tempt you from La Belle France. 

With regards to Dr. Berenger, and thanks for his 
courtesy, from both Janet and myself, believe us 
yours, with warm affection, truly, 

Theresa Lamark. 


XXXI. 


VIOLET TO THERESA. 


Pinkerton Place, Aug, Ith^ 18 — . 
Dear, Precious Theresa : 

Why don’t I hear from you, so full of pain, as I 
have been, at your going home upon the sad news of 
your sister’s sickness ? There has been no word since. 
j\Ir. Pinkerton begs me to tell you how sorry he is, 
and to urge you to write us a line, at least, telling us 
how you all are. I am happy here — doubtless as 
happy as I can ever hope to be. I find my new 
guardian grows kinder and more fatherly every day* 
But for you this had never been. Know, then, how 
dear you are to 

Your grateful and loving 

Violet. 


XXXII. 


THERESA TO VIOLET. 

Blueberry, Aug. 18th. 

I should have written before, dear Violet, but 
Grace has been very ill, and we have been too much 


THE LAMARKS. 


57 


absorbed in her to think of any one else. I am glad 
you wrote. Thank Mr. Pinkerton for his interest. 
She is better. Qur jjhysician now says with the most 
careful nursing we may hope for her recovery. 
Either Janet or I are with her every moment. All 
that the tenderest devotion can do, has and will be 
done. We have been anxious beyond expression. 
Thank God, the worst is over, and, with his blessing, 
our darling treasure may be restored to health. 

Do write to me freely, as you promised, and after 
awhile I shall have heart and strength to write more 
at length. Thankful that you are happy, with love 
to your kind friends. 

Yours, with sincere affection, 

Theresa Lamark. 


XXXIII. 

MADAME BERENGER TO THERESA. 

Provence, Chateau de la Belle Monte, 

August Ibi. 

I was charmed to hear from you, my dear Theresa, 
yet grieved that you have been in such distress for 
your sister. I rejoice with you, in her improved 
condition, and trust she may be restored to per- 
fect health, and that I shall soon receive intelligence 
of your intention to visit me. Would it not be bene- 
ficial to bring Grace to Provence ? I would be only 
too happy to have her come with you, and the change 
would certainly be of service to her. This region is, 
you know, a famous resort for invalids. 

The melancholy tone of your letter touched me 


58 


THE LAMARKS. 


sadly. Religion always seems to me to have done so 
little for its votaries that I have never been able to 
understand their professed devotion to it. The whole 
Christian world professes to believe in a Heaven of 
perfect bliss, and in the perfect work of Christ, assur- 
ing them that its enjoyment belongs to all those who 
believe in Him ; but every body is afraid or unwilling 
to go to this beautiful Heaven, or to have those tliey 
love go there. If the love of Divine things is strong 
enough, and the knowledge or faith as clear as the 
teachings you accept claim, it seems to me it ought 
to overcome the natural weakness of the human heart. 
When I reflect, too, upon the pure and holy teachings 
of one who was willing to lay down His life to prove 
to the world how indispensable the practice of His 
lessons are, and then see how far short those fall 
who profess to follow Him, I must confess I would 
rather be among those who stand afar off, striving to 
do their duty in life, without making any especial pro- 
fession of superior sanctity. 

You will understand, my dear, that I mean to cast 
no reflections upon you ; indeed, I have felt that in 
your brave and cheerful devotion to duty, you were 
practicing all that Christians usually are satisfied to pro- 
fess, and I really believe from you and Janet, I may be 
able to form a higher opinion of Christian faith and 
practice. Frankness, you know, begets frankness — 
you wrote from your heart — I write from mine. I have 
followed Dr. Berenger in his study of the religions of 
the ancient world. You opened up a subject upon 
which we have thought and talked a great deal. The 
study of language has developed many new and won- 


THE LAMARKS. 


59 


derful ideas. The recent discovery of the Veda, Zend 
A vesta, and other less important ancient works ; the 
oldest, older than all the books of the Bible, excepting 
that of Job, perhaps, has kept the brains of philo- 
sophic thinkers busy, and will for many years to 
come. 

Brahma’s was a wonderful religion for that age — 
nearly two thousand years before Christ! Buddha 
lived at least five hundred years before Christ — he was 
a wise, a pure, a devout reformer — he too, desired to 
deliver mankind from the fear of disease, old age, 
and death! “Nothing is real — nothing is stable on 
earth,”- Buddha said. He too, practiced his precepts, 
and taught others to do so, and had more believers 
than the religion of Christ has to-day! Confucius 
founded the Chinese religion ; his is still the faith of 
millions upon millions of that ancient and curious 
people. Zoroaster was a wonderful expounder of 
wise and profitable lessons. Mahomet did a great 
work, and they all opened heaven to their followers — 
they all sought to elevate man above the ordinary 
cares and disasters of life, and all seem to have suc- 
ceeded to a greater or less extent. 

After eighteen hundred years, the religion of Christ, 
with all its claims of Divine origin and power, has 
scarcely began to christianize the world; this, even 
the best and ablest of Christians admit. Instead of 
regenerating the world and lifting it up to heaven, 
the world has dragged Christianity down to the very 
dust. Christ offers to deliver man from the ills of 
life and the fear of death, but who is delivered from 
either? Your own acknowledgments of distress for 


60 


THE LAMARKS. 


your sister, and your pious struggles to overcome it, 
prove that even in one so faithful and earnest as 
yourself, the work is, at best, an imperfect one. It 
seems to me that if I once firmly believed that death 
“opened the kingdom of Heaven to all believers,” and 
that heaven was indeed a place of delicious joys, per- 
fected beauties, and “peace that passeth all understand^ 
ing,” that I could rejoice when some loved one was 
safely entered upon such happiness, to be with those 
beloved and lost, free forever and ever and ever from 
all the cares, and sorrows and pains of this mortal 
life, and where I might hope, at no distant day, to be 
transported myself, never more to be dissevered from 
them. 

Never, never will the world turn to Christ, until 
such a living faith can be seen to illumine the lives 
of those who profess to love Him. I pray with you, 
my very dear Theresa, that you may be able to over- 
come your fears, and realize the fullness of the bright- 
est hopes, which I would rejoice, with all my heart, to 
have part in. 

With sincere love to your sisters from Dr. Berenger 
and myself. 

Ever your affectionate Aunt 

Theresa. 


XXXIV. 

THERESA TO MADAME BERENGER. 

Blueberry, August 24^/i. 

If I could have seen you, face to face, when I read 
your letter, I should just have put my hand on yours 


THE LAMARKS. 


61 


and said, “ Why, Auntie ! ” What a well-deserved 
reproach, that, yielding to, and expressing my own 
weakness, should have tended to confirm your unbe- 
lief! My heart is full, but I feel afraid to pour it out 
to you, lest I do further harm to a faith that is very 
precious to me. Yet I can not be silent, with the 
regret I feel that I have brought reproach upon the 
religion of Christ. Dear Aunty, if you want to know 
what that religion is, just look at Jesus — learn of 
Him ; you never can see even a faint reflection of it 
in any body else. Try your very best to approach 
the Divine model yourself, and then you will at least 
have more charity for poor erring mortals. 

I wonder if you think the Bible no better than the 
Veda and the Zend Avesta, or the Koran ? Aunty, 
you have never read it all very, very carefully, if you 
do. You must believe in God. How any one can 
look upon the beauties and wonderful adaptations in 
nature, and not believe there is a great and good God 
over and in it all, I can not understand. Some one 
has wisely said, the very act of creation was a revelation 
of God, If there is a Divine Power that governs the 
universe, that power must be every-where, near no 
less than afar, in the infinitesimal, as well as in the in- 
finite. It must be near to each one of us. Humility 
becomes us, and a constant care not to attempt to 
measure such a power by the feeble conceptions of 
human understanding. 

The laws of nature, unerring and unchanging, il- 
lustrate the perfection and constancy of His opera- 
tions in the visible world. They are the methods of 
expression, or out-picturing of the Divine and invis- 


62 


THE LAiMAKKS. 


ble. All things necessary to the development of the 
physical and intellectual faculties of man He has 
provided for us. And for those other and higher 
faculties — call them moral, if you will — I call them 
spiritual — He has also provided aliment, the purest 
and most perfect, in His Word — our Bible— and in the 
Living Word within each human being. 

I do believe, as men of less favored races have 
been able to learn. He has given them, from time to 
time, wise and great teachers, through this Inner Light, 
to lift them up from ignorance and vice. Among 
these may have been Brahma, Buddha, Confucius, 
and Zoroaster, and Mahomet, if you choose, but were 
they comparable to the great prophets Moses, Joshua, 
Samuel, Elijah, and others of our religion? And 
yet, peerless and unapproachable, above them all, we 
must believe in and worship the Redeemer of the 
world. He claimed to be the Son of God. We must 
believe Him to be Divine, or reject Him as a deceiver 
and imposter. From a purely moral point of view, 
were the teachings of any of the heathen gods com- 
parable to the teachings of Jesus ?, Was not Buddha 
considered the greatest of those ancient reformers? 
One striking difference between his teachings and 
those of Christ occurs to me. It is certainly a most 
radical point. Buddha said, Our sorrows are pro- 
duced by our affections, therefore, these must be rooted 
out.’’ Every affection in life must be ignored, and thus 
man would become perfectly callous to every affliction 
and every change, and thus only ! Ah, Aunty, would 
you accept that as better than our religion of love ? 
Love to God — lifting our hearts up above the best 


THE LAMAKKS. 


6S 


things of this world. Love to man — riveting every 
bond of pure alfection. “ This is my commandment, 
that ye love one another ; ” not only those united 
to us by natural relationship, but ‘‘ Love thy neigh- 
bor as thyself.” Nay, more, “Love your enemies, 
bless them that curse you and despitefully use you.” 
“ Love is the fulfilling of the law.” Thus Christ 
taught us to rivet and strengthen every bond of love. 
Christian progress is progress under the tuition of 
love. God is love. Christ’s life was a mission of love. 
His death the most touching proof of it. ‘ ‘ Greater 
love hath no man than this, that a man lay down 
his life for his friend. ” Is not this the better way ? 

What a paradise this world would be if all men 
lived His lesson of love. Never reflect unjustly upon 
the precious Master, because those who profess to fol- 
low Him fall so far short. The religion is perfect. It 
is human practice that deforms it. If you would 
learn its beauty and its power, look only upon Him. 
In Him alone who came down from Heaven there was 
no guile. He came because the world was drowned in 
sin. Neither His life nor His death could check the 
baleful tide at once. He knew it was but the very 
beginning of the great work. That it would take 
thousands of years to lift the living men, one by one, 
above the flood, upon the sure rock of Truth that 
He in love had raised above the stormy rage of sin. 
Centuries upon centuries of Spirit work upon the 
hearts of men. Slowly spiritual truth and beauty 
will grow to perfection as the continents have grown 
above the waters of the earth to blooming beauty. 


64 


THE LAMARRS. 


Aunty, dear, you speak of death opening Heaven 
Nay, not so, it is Jesus who opens Heaven — who has 
opened it. When Thou hadst overcome the sharp- 
ness of death. Thou didst open the kingdom of Heaven 
to all believers.” Can it be that you do not believe 
in Heaven ? I can not imagine how you feel if you do 
not. To live in the constant presence of death and 
have no light or hope beyond that impenetrable dark- 
ness, would be madness to me. 

I do believe in it, from my inmost soul. We have 
promises enough to make us all jubilant ; but some- 
how we seem to drag them down to our level instead 
of being lifted by them, as we ought to be, into a very 
present Heaven, where we are, even now, with Him 
entered into the glory light. We are children of 
the Kingdom now. Your reproach has done me good 
— and I am going to declare my faith, and live it 
henceforth, instead of declaring my weakness, and so 
living it and bringing reproach upon my Master’s 
perfect finished work. 

I have written too much — I did not mean to do so 
— you will forgive me ; I hope it will do you no harm. 
My heart was moved by your tribute to the heathen 
gods. 

Grace is improving ; she rides out, but looks very 
frail — her cough distresses me. Our physician fears 
our damp climate for her weakened lungs, and urges 
us, by all means, to avail ourselves of your kindness, 
and take her at once to the South of France, or even 
to Naples, if she desires it. Will it be agreeable to 
you to receive an invalid — she may, you know, con- 
tinue quite delicate all winter? We will wait to hear 


THE LAMARKS. 


65 


from you again before coming to any decision, and 
give Grace time to gain strength, before thinking of 
going further than our ponies can carry us. 

Regards to Dr. Berenger, with many thanks for his 
courtesy, from my sisters and myself, and our united 
love to you, dear Aunty, 

Ever, affectionately yours, 

Theresa. 


XXXV. 

MADAME BERENGER TO THERESA. 

Provence, Chateau de la Belle Monte, 

September (yth, 

I write you a line, in haste, my dearest Theresa, to 
tell you that Dr. Berenger returns to Paris next month, 
he will be there ten days or a fortnight. You must 
join him, with Grace, and come at once to me. I am 
delighted with the prospect of having her. We will 
not let her be an invalid long; the soft, bracing air 
will be very beneficial, and if it should seem necessary, 
or be agreeable to every body interested, we will go to 
Italy in the winter, with you. 

I do not mean to tell you what I think of your 
letter — it has certainly done me no harm. I hope you 
may soon be here, and then you may quite persuade 
me to be a Christian. 

Write to Dr. Berenger, Rue de Font, care of Ro- 
maine & Co. , telling him exactly when you will come 
to Paris — where to meet you, etc., he will then gladly 
bring you to 


Theresa. 


5 


Your impatient Aunt, 


66 


THE LAMARKS. 


XXXVI. 

THERESA TO MADAME BERENGER. 

Blueberry, September IQth, 
Dear Aunt Theresa ; 

Nothing could have been more grateful than your 
exceedingly cordial note, inviting us to join Dr. Ber- 
enger, in Paris. Grace has improved rapidly since I 
wrote ; she has been out riding daily, the weather 
having been unusually fine — and will be quite strong 
enough for the journey within the time you expect 
Dr. Berenger to leave Paris, if nothing unforeseen 
occurs. We hope for every thing from the change, 
and the prospect of a winter with you in Provence — 
the home of Petrarch — next to Italy, the sunny land 
of song and romance, is enchanting. We can not 
deny ourselves the hope that the gentle waves of the 
Mediterranean sea will bear us over to Italy — the 
bright land of my day dreams for years. Though I 
hope darling Grace may not need it, I must see Italy.. 
The thought swells my heart with enthusiasm — poetry 
rises to my lips — grand architecture looms up before 
me ; noble statuary and beautiful pictures pass before 
my mental vision with all the intense anticipations of 
an admirer of our great Buskin: Pisa and Rome! 
Naples ! Words are inadequate ! 

But one thing, dear Aunty, gives me pain. If you 
have any idea of learning any thing good from me, I 
shall not venture to go to you. I have begged Jean- 
nette to go with Grace, for she could take better care 
of her than I can, and they are both far, far better 


THE LAMARKS. 


67 


than I. Janet is a model of self-control — amiable, 
consistent and useful. Grace is altogether lovely — 
never wanted to do any thing wrong in her life ; but, 
alas! for myself — the willful, wayward, impetuous 
one of the family — meaning well but doing ill ; saying 
and doing that which I ought not, and leaving undone 
that which I ought to do. But Janet will not leave her 
post, and with her usual unselfishness, insists upon my 
having this pleasure. Oh, Aunty I I am so unworthy, 
please never think that I can do any thing to show 
the beauty of the religion of Christ ; I feel so 
abashed by the knowledge that I ought, with the sad 
consciousness that I never can, and that I constantly 
dishonor my Master— that nothing but my own sor- 
rowing repentance, and my faith in His love and 
patience, keeps me from despairing. Think only of 
Him — learn of Him — if you would know what His 
religion is. In thus keeping your eyes and heart 
fixed upon the perfect pattern of excellence, though 
all the world go on erring and sinning, you may be 
able to do better than the rest. 

Now, please Aunty, never, even in jest, say such 
things again — it is too sadly serious for jesting. Re- 
member, in mercy, the weakness of human nature, 
and have mercy on me. 

I will write to Dr. Berenger, if he will drop me a 
line upon his arrival in Paris, letting him know where 
we will join him ; will you beg him to do so ? Other- 
wise I should hesitate to address him there. 

In the hope of soon seeing you, with love from my 
sisters. 

Your loving namesake, 

Theresa Lamark. 


68 


THE LAMARKS. 


XXXVII. 

DR. BERENGER TO THERESA. 

Paris, October Sd. 

Miss Theresa Lamark : 

Here I am. Within twenty days come at anytime. 
I will escort you gladly to your Aunt. She longs 
for you. Address me, Eue de Font, care of Romaine 
&Co. 

Yours truly, 

Jean Berenger. 


XXXVIII. 

THERESA TO DR. BERENGER. 

Blueberry, October 6th, 

Dr. Berenger : 

I thank you for your note. I trust you are not 
appalled at the prospect of such a charge. If it will 
be agreeable to you, we will be at Paris upon the 
20th of October. Will you be kind enough to engage 
apartments for us at your own hotel ? 

Hoping to hear from you again, 

Yours, with affectionate regard, 

Theresa Lamark. 


XXXIX. 

DR. berenger to THERESA. 

Paris, Rue de Font, October ISth. 
Miss Theresa : 

Need I again assure you that I will be only too 


THE LAMARKS. 


69 


happy to escort your sister and yourself to your Aunt. 
I will engage apartments for you, and will, on the 
evening of the twentieth of October, meet you at the 
railway station. If any thing prevents your start at 
the appointed time, telegraph me. Look out for a 
sky-blue scarf, the badge of 

Your gray-bearded Uncle 

Jean. 


XL. 

THERESA TO VIOLET. 

Blueberry, October loth, 

I must now complain of your long silence, dear 
Violet. I write to bid you farewell. I go with Grace 
to Paris next week to join my Uncle, Dr. Berenger. 
From there we go to the Chateau de la Belle Monte, 
in the south of France, my Aunt Theresa’s home. 
Why have you not written tome? You must cer- 
tainly do so with the utmost freedom whenever I can 
be of service to you. I judge from your silence that 
you are happily occupied. I regret that Grace’s ill- 
ness has prevented your visit to us. We will hope 
for better things next summer. 

Do you hear any thing of Aunt and Uncle Lisle? 
We ought to forgive them perfectly now that every 
thing has turned out so well. Does a brighter faith 
come to you ? Pray for it, dear, and it will come, 
sooner or later. Teach and comfort yourself daily 
with His own precious words from the inexhaustible 
treasury of Divine love. Do you have any help in 
this where you are ? Janet and Grace join me in 


70 


THE LAMAEKS. 


love to you. Give my regards to your kind friends, 
and believe me, ever affectionately your friend, 

Theresa Lamark. 


XLI. 

THERESA TO JEANNETTE. 

Paris, Oct. 23d. 

My Dear Janet : 

Here we are in Paris ! I can not realize it, though 
the hubbub of Babel is around me. The transition was 
so rapid I could scarcely credit my own senses. The 
farewells ; the travel to the port ; the waters so 
smooth and beautiful until we were fairly beyond our 
harbor ; the wretched rocking of the waves of the 
channel; land again, “half-seas over,” scarcely able 
to keep our feet on terra Jirma; whizzed along 
through beautiful France, as though some body was 
afraid we would see something ; and, at last, Paris, 
which we could not see for the houses ! 

The seasickness was dreadful — dizziness has so 
possessed us that our equilibrium is scarcely yet re- 
stored. Do you remember how we used to walk over 
the carpet with old Aunt Nonie’s spectacles on? Just 
so the ground went up and down, all little hills and 
hollows when we walked ashore. With all the discom- 
fort, it was amusing. The blue scarf was the first 
thing we saw on the platform. My beau ideal of a 
French savant was not realized. You know my ideals 
rarely are. The great heart and cordial grasp of the 
hand and genial kindness seemed to me rather Ger- 
man than French. He is already “ Uncle Jean.” 


THE LAMARKS. 


71 


Ah, you must be weary, little one,” he said, taking 
Grace right up in his strong arms and lifting her into 
the carriage. ‘‘ Aunt Theresa will be charmed with 
her English rose and lily. I am so happy to be able 
to present them to her.” Gallant speech, wasn’t it ? 
And so charmingly expressed — a slight accent gives 
earnestness to his words. Grace says, ‘‘ I know he is 
good and generous, and I am so thankful.” I, too, 
am thankful, Janet, for you know we have never had 
a very high opinion of French heart — always thinking 
there was too much suavity of manner for true frank- 
ness and warmth of heart. But here seems to be a 
big heart, elegant manners, and this beautiful gift of 
saying agreeable things, which every body might 
just as well cultivate, (if kind, pleasant words are 
honest words, there is double good done all the time). 

Dear Grace seems diverted by the change of 
scene. She has the same sad expression we have so 
much deplored, but brightens up, now and then, at 
some new object of interest, and the sweet, childish, 
or rather innocent smile lights up her face, that was 
always there before these last dreadful weeks. How 
bright it was when I went away from you last May ! 
Will I ever see it again ? The shadow on her heart 
clouds it. Oh, Janet, I do feel so heart-sick when I 
think of it, as I always do when I look upon her. 
She is so lovely! All eyes are turned upon her 
wherever we go, and she is perfectly unconscious of 
it — so childlike in every thing, but that sad, resigned 
look that comes whenever she is alone. How bright 
she was in the spring time ! How she would have en- 
joyed every thing in this travel ! Then she was like 


72 


THE LAMARKS. 


a perfect lily, pure and exquisite, but fresh and in 
the full bloom of vigorous beauty. Now she is very 
beautiful, but too fair — so fragile, so angelic. Is it 
not sad ? 

It is folly to think of what might have been. If 
God will only give us faith to trust in Him for every 
thing. I dare not ask for my own will now. I hope 
for much benefit from this change. This is not one 
of our wilful, human plans. We seem to have drifted 
into it, guided, I hope, by His ministering spirits. 
May they watch over you at home, and us abroad, 
keeping us from straying from the way the Master 
leads us, making us willing to bear God’s will cheer- 
fully, though our own hopes are disappointed. 

I feel, dearest Janet, that your burden in all this 
is heavier than mine. You must be very, very lonely 
in the dull old home. To bear, passively living on 
from day to day in the unchanging, monotonous 
ways, is so much harder than our changeful and ex- 
quisite interest in new scenes. It does help wonder- 
fully to be thus diverted from one’s own self — more 
than I ever thought it could. 

We have seen nothing yet but the Boulevards 
everywhere teeming with people. In every thing we 
feel the novelty of a great foreign metropolis. If you 
were transported here for an hour, you would think 
what a wonderful sight the streets of Paris are, so 
brilliantly beautiful and gay ! Such magnificent 
thoroughfares, with grand, beautiful buildings, mon- 
uments, fountains and statuary, and, above all, trees 1 
We will drive out again this evening, but will defer 
all our sight-seeing of special objects until we are on 


THE LAMARKS. 


73 


our homeward way, when Grace will be so much 
better able to enjoy it all. We will probably start for 
the Chateau to-morrow. I am ashamed not to tell you 
something of all we have seen, but indeed, dear 
Janet, it is impossible. There has been too much — 
the time is so short. I feel hurried and restless, and 
breathless, as it were. Pray let me think selfishly 
this time and I will be brighter before I write again. 
I dare say we shall have qualms of homesickness. 
Indeed I will not deny having had some feeling that 
would be gratifying to the dear ones at Blueberry, 
but I do not mean to go into the confessional yet. 

Grace sends embraces to you all. Mr. Ensley will 
tell you of our trip over. You will see him in a few 
days. Thank him again for us — he was extremely 
kind and obliging. 

Ever, with tender love to Aunt, Madeline and your- 
self, yours fondly, 

Theresa. 

P. S. — Uncle Jean has just been in to tell us that 
he is unexpectedly detained, so that we are to have a 
few more days in Paris. Grace is doing so well I am 
really glad we are to stay longer. Will write very 
soon again. Do send us a letter here on receipt of 
this — it will be such a pleasure. Yours, 

Therese. 


74 


THE LAJVIARKS. 


XLII. 

GRACE TO JEANNETTE. 

Paris, Oci. 26th, 

I have been long in coming to you, my darling 
sister. We are either riding or resting, and so many 
things have occurred to prevent that I have put ofi 
writing from hour to hour, hoping the days would 
not fly so swiftly, and that some unwearied hour I 
could have a long, satisfactory chat. Bespeaking your 
forgiveness and a make-up kiss, I will tell you why 
this letter is dated Paris. We expected to have been 
in Provence, now, but, day after day. Uncle Jean 
comes in and says, ‘‘ Well, my dearies, do you 
think you can make out another day in Paris?* 
Whereupon, Theresa throws up her hands, and ex- 
claims, ‘‘It would be very charming anywhere with 
Uncle Jean, but in Paris, words can not express it ! ” 
“ And what says my little Grace ? ’’ he always adds so 
kindly. I just say, “ It is very pleasant,” with a 
smile that satisfies them both. We have had a lovely 
time. I am neither very bright nor very strong, but 
far more at peace, living above it all, even in the 
midst of these strange sights and sounds, than I ever 
thought I should be. Tesa, dear, devoted sister, has 
not left me for an hour. We have driven out each 
day, once or twice, indeed, almost all day long, and she 
has declined all invitations to enjoy any thing I could 
not safely enjoy too. One thing I have had my way 
about, when I am tired of it all, to leave me to rest 
or read, or write, or dream, while she receives her 
visitors in the Salon. She seems in her native ele- 


THE LAMARRS. 


75 


ment, so animated and brilliant. Uncle Jean is evi- 
dently very proud of her, and always comes in with 
a retinue, and insists on Theresa devoting herself to 
her guests while he comes to sit with me, and exults 
over the admiration she receives. Occasionally he 
will take no excuse, and if I dare complain of fatigue, 
almost takes me up bodily and carries me down, in- 
troducing me to his friends. I wish he would not, 
but what can I do when he is so kind, and knows it 
really does me no harm — only that I would rather 
think one moment of you and the dear home friends 
than to talk or listen to all the Frenchmen in Paris 
or the world at large. Mr. De Montaine is here and 
seems to be pursuing Theresa. He had been riding 
on the Boulevards wdth us just before we met Aunt 
Lisle and Edwin. I leave the account to Tesa. We 
are to have a visit from them. Ah, there is a knock ! 
Adieu, love. 

Ever, your loving 

Grace. 

Only a valet with the loveliest bouquet you ever saw, 
sister dearest, with an exquisite tinted card for Miss 
Barton. Who can have sent it? I expect it was 
good Uncle Jean. Kind, delicate attention, is it not? 
Flowers are always so welcome. I wish I could blow it 
to Blueberry, as some good fairy might, or that I had 
a square of magic carpet to lay it on, that you might 
have it in a minute. Every body does things grace- 
fully in Paris. I do n’t believe there are ever any 
mistakes made in manners. I had a beautiful day — 
let me see — yesterday. We have seen so much I can 
not believe we have been here such a little 'while. 


76 


THE LAMARKS. 


We drove to the Louvre — all was so grand and lovely 
— the genial sunshine so brightened up every thing. 
The part of the Louvre built by the present Emperor, 
to connect the old palace with the Tuileries, is far 
superior and grander in architecture than the other 
parts of the building. Life-like statues of all the emi- 
nent statesmen, orators, poets, etc., are placed con- 
spicuously around the building ; they are all so 
graceful, such grand figures, and the tout ensemble 
is beautiful in its simplicity. Uncle Jean fairly car- 
ried me to the most charming and attractive gallery. 
Reclining there luxuriously and comfortably, I enjoyed 
every thing around me while the rest walked through 
the long galleries until they were quite worn out. 

I did not even glance at the long lines of magnifi- 
cent paintings. The very thought of it made me 
tired, and I was glad when Uncle Jean said : ‘‘ Now, 
dear Grace, you shall see Raphael and Murillo, to 
your heart’s content, but that is all I shall allow 
to-day.” 

None of Raphael’s were what I looked for, so many 
figures are introduced into his pictures. It is my own 
want of cultivated taste, perhaps, but nothing there 
impressed me or delighted me as did Murillo’s “Con- 
ception” — the coloring was so soft and beautiful. 
The virgin with her beautiful golden hair flowing, 
her hands crossed upon her breast, her feet resting on 
the crescent moon — surrounded by groups of angels, 
with the most touching angelic little faces, all in a 
mist of glory — borne upward on the clouds. It is 
exquisite — the expression so touching on the virgin’s 
countenance — the most languishing, supplicating look 


THE LAMARKvS. 


77 


— seeming so much to want to get to yon resting-place 
after a last look at earth. I was glad not to have to 
look at any thing else. I did not want the lovely 
image to be dimmed by any thing — almost wished I 
could just close my eyes after turning from it, and 
never have another image pictured through them 
until they opened upon celestial scenes — they must be 
something like this heavenly vision of the great artist. 
Darling sister, I am so willing — nay, some times so 
longing to go — it must be so glorious, so lovely there ! 
It is so to our poor imaginations, how much more so 
to the grand, dreaming artists and poets ? And yet, 
Paul says: ^‘It hath not entered into the heart of 
man to conceive it.” How strange that people make 
so much of this world and so little of heaven ! 

They were all in raptures over some grand pictures 
by Guido, of Hercules and his famous combats with 
the Hydra, Archelaus and Death — said to be wonder- 
fully powerful — larger than life ! but they could not 
tempt me to look even once. 

I am tired, and must bid you adieu ; I have writ- 
ten on, little by little, from time to time. I will 
write soon again if we remain here. With a kiss for 
Madeline and one for Aunt Rachel, and fondest love 
and kisses for your own dear self. 

Ever, darling Sister, your own loving 

Grace. 


78 


THE LAMARKS. 


XLIII. 

THERESA TO JEANNETTE. 

Paris, October 26th. 

I come to you all aglow, dearest Janet. We were 
in the garden of the Tuileries — had ascended the 
grand terrace, overlooking the Place de la Concorde, 
the Champs Elysees and away beyond — through that 
superb avenue — to the Arc de Triomphe and the 
Bois de Bologne. After feasting our eyes with the mag- 
nificent prospect, we turned to enjoy the nearer beau- 
ties of the gardens of the palace. Grace being most 
comfortably seated, I slipped away from our coterie of 
friends, for I wanted to take a good look all by my- 
self, at the statuary of the garden. By myselt I did 
begin somewhat to enjoy and appreciate these wonder- 
ful works of art. I was full of life, and almost ran 
through the lovely aisles of blooming verdure, feeling 
a sort of independence among hundreds of strangers, 
that was really hilarious. The very freedom of our 
own fields, for the first time since I left you, and 
doubtless passed for a wild English woman ! Oh ! the 
falsity of human hopes ! Alone as I thought myself, 
an argus eye had fallen upon me — a familiar voice 
startled me. I turned upon — Aunt Lisle. ‘‘ Why, 
my dear Theresa, where did you come from ! Edwin, 
this is your cousin, Theresa Lamark.” ‘‘I am most 
happy,” he said, bowing gracefully, ‘‘one is always 
being astonished and delighted in Paris. I was sorry 
not to have been at home when you were there. How- 
ever, if you had the same penchant for old fellows 


THE LAMARKS. 


79 


that another little cousin of mine has, I should not 
have been appreciated very highly.” I know Aunt 
Lisle was sorry the fascination of listening to his voice 
had kept her silent so long. She got as red as a peony 
at this. I saw through it all in an instant, and when 
Aunt Lisle began “Where are you, dear child? 
When did you come to Paris? ” etc., I was saying, “ I 
do not understand; do you mean Mr. Pinkerton? 
Violet did not care a fig for him.” “ What ! Explain 
why she has gone to live with him — she is his wife — 
money, aye ? ” “ Come, Edwin, come ! You can see 

Theresa again. Come ! I wdll not wait an instant ! ” 
“ Nay, by Jupiter, this interests me,” he cried. I 
knew her cunning too well ; I had talked before, in 
spite of her interruptions. I feared she would not let 
Edwin see me again, so I must speak now or forever 
hold my peace. His apparent anxiety determined me. 
I looked right at him and said : “ Edwin, you are a 

perfect stranger to me. I do not know whether you 
love your little cousin or not but the truth can do no 
harm — she is not married to Mr. Pinkerton. Your 
father and mother tried to force her to marry him ; she 
refused to comply with their wishes, and has only 
accepted from him a home — w^hich they refused her.” 

Aunt got redder and redder, and tried harder and 
harder to stop me or carry Edwin away, but it was of 
no use. What else could I do ? I should have con- 
sidered it beneath me to have sought a private inter- 
view with Edwin Lisle, and felt that I owed that 
much to Violet. 

Edwin’s “by Jupiter’s” and Aunt Lisle’s ‘‘tut,” 
“ tut,” “ tut’s” came thick and fast. I was about to 


80 


THE LAMARKS. 


run away, but be said, ‘‘ Stay, one moment ; I thank 
you infinitely. Where are you staying?” I gave 
him our address and hurried away, wishing I could run 
to Blueberry, with all enthusiasm for the fine arts 
erased from my mind, quite shocked at my own rash- 
ness. No wonder my friends observed my flushed face 
and thought me weary. I was glad when Uncle Jean 
hailed a voiture, and we were safely back in St. Ger- 
main, and am still more relieved, now that I have 
told it all to you. If I had only not told Edwin 
where we are, for I never want to lay eyes on either 
of them again. 

Grace sends ‘‘an ocean of love.” Embrace Aunt 
and Madeline, and tell my little one to return yours 
for me. Has she been a good girl ? Tell her to write 
me another little letter. 

Ever fondly, and fonder than ever. 

Yours, 

Theresa. 

XLIV. 

THERESA TO JEANNETTE. 

Paris, October 27, 18—. 

Dearest Jane : 

We are still in Paris, you see, enjoying ourselves to 
the full every moment. Dear Grace seems so much 
better — stronger and in better spirits. Indeed, we 
leave her so little time for self-recollection that slie 
can not be sorrowful. This is a wonderful place. A : 
few years ago it had spoiled me, every place else must j 
have seemed so dull in comparison, but now I can 


THE LAMARKS. 


81 


enjoy it rationally, feeling that this butterfly life 
would not suit me long, but for a little while I do 
revel in it. There is a perfect excitement of pleasure- 
seeking — of luxury, fashion, and display. One can 
but think, if one stops at all to think of these things 
here, that the meek and lowly Master sees little of 
His spirit amid all this pride and glare and glitter ; 
yet His own holy form, and that of the Virgin Mother 
are imaged every-where — in every conceivable place 
and material, — statues, bas-reliefs, in fresco and on 
canvas, with all the gorgeous coloring and exquisite 
drawing of the great masters of art. 

Oh, Janet, if you could but be here with us ! To 
give you any idea of what we see is impossible, for 
where should one begin or end. I do wish I had seen 
London before coming here. I do not like to feel 
that our own nationality can boast nothing equal to it. 
London must be very grand, more stately and grave. 
I should have been so much better prepared for the 
magnificence of Paris had I been familiar with the 
splendid objects of interest in our own vast metropo- 
lis. But to come from Blueberry to Paris ! Janet, 
you can not imagine it ! Nothing but my aversion to 
being considered country-bred keeps me from abso- 
lutely staring all agape wherever I go. A stranger 
who can not get behind the veil in the life of a great 
capital, comparing the noble architecture, places of 
public interest, palaces, churches, spacious parks, 
gardens and magnificent thoroughfares, must be cap- 
tivated by Paris above every other place. The Bou- 
levards are indeed the great glory of Paris, giving 
6 


82 


THE LAMARKS. 


access to and displaying to advantage all its other 
embellishments. All Paris seems to flutter through 
the great shady highways, between the palaces and 
parks ; to be more at home at the academies, the the- 
aters, the cafes, the shops and public promenades, 
than in their own houses. Indeed, every place and 
every part of the city seem so devoted to the public 
that one can but wonder where the homes of the 
people are, reminded that the precious word ‘‘home’^ 
has no corresponding meaning in the French lan- 
guage. 

What throngs, brilliant in equipage and dress, pass 
through the Kue Kivoli, extending from the old site 
of the Bastile to the Place de la Concorde. On either 
side are magnificent objects of interest — the Louvre, 
the Tuileries, and their superb courts and gardens. 
That of the Tuileries more than two thousand feet 
long and a thousand wide, with fountains, statuary 
and every thing to enhance delight. On to the west 
is the ‘‘Place de la Concorde.” Here stands the 
superb obelisk of Luxor, which formerly stood in 
front of the temple of Thebes, erected by the great 
Sesostris 1500 years before the birth of our Savior. 
Three years were spent in its transportation, and it 
cost $400,000 to place it where it is. This will give 
you some idea as to the way money is used here for 
the public pleasure. 

Many splendid statues, and fountains beside, grace 
the “ Place de la Concorde.” Just beyond is the 
Champs Elysees. Magnificent trees border the walks. 
On every side are beautiful groves. Surrounding the 
“ Jardin Mabille,” the “ Chauteau des Fleurs,” and 


THE LAMAKKS. 


83 


the “ Palace de 1 ’ Imperatrice,” are cafes, music-halls, 
elegant fountains, and marbles. Its grand avenue, 
stretching away to the ‘‘Arc de Triomphe de T 
Etoile,” passes midway the six beautiful fountains of 
the Bound Point. The Triumphal Arch is superbly 
grand, erected by the great Napolean I., to com- 
memorate his victories. It is one hundred and fifty- 
two feet high, one hundred and thirty-seven feet 
broad, and sixty-eight feet deep. The height of its 
principal arch is ninety feet. Costing more than two 
million of dollars and thirty years’ labor. Twelve 
Boulevards diverge from this magnificent monument. 
We passed through that of L’ Impera trice, still west- 
ward, to the Bois de Bologne, a marvelous wilder- 
ness of beauties like those which Faerie Spenser 
saw. 

“ Fresh shadows fit to shroud from summer ray, 

Fair lawns to take the sun in season due, 

Sweet springs in which a thousand nymphs might play, 
Soft rumbling brooks that gentle slumber drew, 
High-reared monuments the land about to view. 

Low looking dales removed from common gaze. 
Delightful bowers to solace lovers true. 

False labyrinths fond runners’ eyes to daze. 

All which, if nature made, must nature’s self amaze.” 

“ For all that nature by her mother wit 

Could frame in earth and form of substance base, 

Was there; and all that nature did omit, 

Art, playing nature’s second part, supplied it.” 

No tree that is of count in green wood groves. 

From lowest juniper to cedar tall ; 

No fiower in field, that dainty odor throws. 

And decks his branch with blossoms over all. 


84 


THE LAMARKS. 


But there was planted, or grew natural ; 

Nor sense of man, so coy and curious nice, 

But their mote find to please itself withal ; 

Nor heart could wish for any quaint device. 

But there it was, and did frail sense entice.’’ 

Good night, dear, dearest Janet, one must stop 
some time. I will tell you more another time ; as I 
am determined you shall have some share in our 
pleasures. I write on and on until I am actually 
exhausted. Ever fondly, 

Therese. 


XLV. 

THERESA TO JEANNETTE. 

Paris, October 2Sth. 

Look, dearest Janet, at your plat of Paris, and you 
will see, north of the Seine and the Rue Rivoli, in 
the very heart of the city, the grand semi-circle of 
the Boulevard Interior — its different divisions having 
different names. Looking north of the ‘‘ Place de la 
Concorde,” you can see the “ Madeleine,” a grand edi- 
fice of modern architecture, modeled after the classic 
Parthenon at Athens, begun by Louis XV., in 1764, 
and only finished during the reign of Louis Phillippe. 
I was too distracted by its splendors to think of wor- 
ship. Its exterior is very imposing, standing on a 
platform 328 feet long and 138 wide, surrounded by 
fifty-two Corinthian columns, each 50 feet high and 
more than 15 feet in circumference at the base. We 
mounted the grand flight of marble steps — extending 
the whole width of the front — when we were tired cf 


THE LAMARKS. 


85 


gazing at the rich sculpture of the entablature, col- 
umns and entrance way, entering the magnificent 
bronze doors — those of St. Peter only excepted, the 
largest in the world. 

The light pours in from the three domes of the 
roof. There is not a space, unfilled with marble or 
gilding, that is not enriched with the most gorgeous 
paintings of the greatest artists. The altar, the 
choir, the walls, the ceiling, teeming with men and 
angels ! 

From the Place de la Madeleine, starts the Boule- 
vard of the same name ; upon it, and the adjoining 
squares are the most superb shops. Boulevard Cap- 
ucines brings you to the Boulevard Italiens. It has 
been said that ‘‘France is the center of civilized 
nations,” that “ Paris is the center of France, and the 
Boulevard des Italiens the center of Paris.” How 
fashion crowds and throngs here by day and by night, 
when the glittering lights present a brilliant spectacle 
of more than oriental splendor! Eastward, beyond 
this, is the Boulevard Montmartre, with its gorgeous 
cafes ; then Poissoniere and Nouvelle — here the grand 
Boulevard Sebastopol intersects it at right angles. It 
is absurd to try to tell you, there is too much ; by 
day and by night it is one gorgeous, glittering revel 
on these miles upon miles of Boulevards, most of 
them an hundred yards wide, planted on either side 
with beautiful rows of trees, and beyond the side- 
^valks, countless stores, restaurants, gardens and 
parks, wherever grand buildings or monuments do 
not take up all the space. I do not wonder that the 
present Emperor has been tempted to do so much. 


86 


THE LAMAEKS. 


When one begins such improvements on such a scale, 
can command the means, and the people seem so 
thoroughly to enjoy it, it is not strange that a mon- 
arch thus seeks to glorify himself and to add to the 
magnificence of his capital. 

The Boulevard Sebastopol alone, the continuation 
of which crosses the Seine and the Isle of Paris at right 
angles, running through the heart of the city — from 
north to south — cost, it is said, $25,000,000 ; La Hue 
Bivoli having cost $30,000,000. Both are the work 
of Napoleon III. Paris is greatly indebted to him for 
numberless magnificent improvements. 

The quays along the Seine are planted with trees 
and handsomely improved ; fine bridges crossing every 
little way, and are favorite places of public resort. I 
weary myself, and you too, perhaps, in running on, 
almost breathlessly — my very pen is weary in slipping 
these poor meager accounts on the listless paper. It 
would take years to see Paris, and a life-time to tell 
it all. 

Good night, fondly, 

Thekesa. 


XLVI. 

THERESA TO JEANNETTE. 

Paris, October Slst 

Dearest Janet : 

We have a little romance of Grace that will interest 
you. She told you of her visit to the Louvre. A ' 
few days afterward. Uncle Jean came in and asked 
her if she did not want to go to see Murillo’s Con- j 


THE LAMARKS. 


87 


ception ” again. She was eager to do so, for she had 
greatly enjoyed it before. While she was preparing 
to start, I saw some sly twinkling of his eye, and 
begged hini to let me into the secret, if there was 
one. Ah ” said he, ‘‘ there is an artist, who was at 
w^ork there, copying the picture, the day Grace 
sat alone so absorbed in looking at it. Her lovely 
expression touched his heart — as the face of the 
virgin grew upon the canvas, it proved a likeness of 
her. Yesterday, M. Rouille (one of our Paris friends) 
chanced to see it, and exclaimed at once, ‘ it is the 
very image of our Island Lily.’ The artist ap- 
proached him and asked if he were so fortunate as to 
know her whose image it was. Keplying in the 
affirmative, the artist asked so anxiously, ‘ Will she 
come again ? ’ that Rouille said he would do what he 
could. ‘ I do not ask to speak to her,’ the artist said, 
‘ but just to look once more upon her face.’ Pouille 
has but just told me, and I am impatient to see the 
artist’s work — not a word to Grace.” That would 
have spoiled it all had it been anybody but our Grace. 
How we did enjoy her unconsciousness — gazing up at 
the picture with the tenderest interest ; never once 
observing how, from time to time, the artist gazed 
upon her as he worked, finishing exquisitely a perfect 
likeness. I covet it — I wish we had it in our home 
parlor — the head, I mean, of course ; the picture 
would be to us like the Vicar of Wakefield’s — we 
would have to tear the house down to get the great 
canvas in. 

And now, Janet, you want to know what man- 
ner of man that artist is ? It was my first 


88 


THE LAMARKS. 


thouglit. I saw him at once — a pale, fair-haired, 
delicate, intellectual and melancholy looking man — 
my ideal of an artist that would thus take such a 
fancy to Grace. Imagine my surprise and disappoint- 
ment — a black-haired, bearded, almost stalwart man, 
apparently as frank and free as a prince, sat work- 
ing intently as we entered. He did not betray any 
especial interest — worked at his picture until Grace 
seemed taken up with Murillo, then quietly shifted 
his position to have a better view of her, and worked 
as though he did not want to lose an instant. We 
sauntered away. By and by U ncle J ean thought Grace 
had done penance long enough, and went to her, in- 
sisisting upon her looking at some other paintings. The 
artist then arose, approached M. Rouille, who was 
near him, thanking him most cordially, and giving him 
his card. “ The American Minister will tell you who 
I am if you care to know ; I thank you again most 
sincerely for your kindness.’’ Bowing again, he was 
about to return to his work, when M. Rouille extended 
his hand. ‘‘ Your pictures are well known in Paris. 
The name of Charles Windemere is guarantee enough. 
I am most happy to know you. Madame Rouille, 
permit me to present Mr. Windemere to you.” And 
as Uncle Jean returned, he was presented to us all. 
He is to call upon us. We have seen so few Ameri- 
cans, I shall be very glad to talk with him. 

Adieu, au revoir, yours, dear Janet, 

Theresa. 


THE LAMARKS. 


89 


XL VII. 

JEANNETTE TO THERESA AND GRACE. 

Blueberry Hall, October 30, 18 — . 
My Dear Girls: 

Your letters have been read and re-read with the 
greatest enthusiasm and delight. I feel that I have 
nothing to tell you, every thing seems so dull and 
common-place. Indeed, I am most of the time in 
Paris with you. Thanks for the beautiful plat, it 
enables me to follow you as no words could. I go 
with you every-where — through the Boulevards and 
parks — look at the buildings and shops, and try to 
imagine the noble and beautiful works of art. If I 
could but just get a glimpse of them, now and then, 
with these longing eyes of mine, what a help it would 
be in setting my imaginations right ! Ah, what won- 
derful things eyes are ! I am glad Dr. Berenger has 
been detained. You must be delighted, and will, too, 
be able to get some pretty things which you both need. 
Do not be afraid that I shall take exception to 
any thing sensible. After all these long years of 
industry and quiet, we may indulge ourselves a little 
without any risk. I have gotten over my anxiety lest 
we might some day have to live backwards. There is 
a larger balance in our favor than I supposed, and 
Mr. Watson assured me that both the property in 

W and the stocks are rapidly increasing in value. 

I tell you this, that you may feel perfectly free ; it is 
so disagreeable to feel any anxiety or stint in spend- 
ing when abroad. 


90 


THE LAMARKS. 


Madeline is at school daily, Aunt Rachel busy with 
her charity class and rural occupations. She misses 
Grace sadly in the school, which she thought it best, 
however, to begin at once. The children miss you, 
dearest Grace, more than Aunt I dare say ; when 
you were sick there was scarcely a day that they did 
not bring nosegays for ‘‘ Miss Grace.” How glad I 
am that you are gaining strength and are able to enjoy 
every thing so much. I know Theresa is careful for 
you. Our old doctor said this morning: ‘‘Caution 
Grace against the night air — out all day, that is right 
— plenty of fresh air — not too tired to sleep well — go 
to bed with the chickens.” Imagine chickens in 
Paris ! ‘ ‘ No excitement to spoil sleep — plenty of 

sleep — plenty of warm, pure, fresh air. Theresa 
must see to it ! ” 

Do write as often as you can, without feeling it a 
tax. Next to being with you, nothing can give me 
so much pleasure. Grace, darling, you are so gentle 
and yielding, that I am sure you will not do any thing 
that might do you harm; always remember how 
precious you are to us. 

I am vexed that you have met Aunt Lisle ; she 
certainly will not add to your pleasures. Thank 
Dr. Berenger, with my love for his goodness to you. 

Yours, ever affectionately. 


Janet. 


THE LAMARKS. 


91 


XLVIII. 

VIOLET TO THERESA. 

Pinkerton Place, Oct. 2bth 
My Precious Theresa: 

We have had so much company, and knowing your 
care for Grace occupied all your time, I have not 
written for so long. But, only to think that you are in 
Paris ! I can not help writing to beg you to tell me 
if you have seen or heard any thing of Edwin. It 
has been so long since any news from him has come 
to me. He dare not write. And who else in all 
France cares for me but you ? My poor heart keeps 
very quiet and still now, perhaps buds a little in this 
home of love, but waits for the sunshine of his love 
to make it bloom. And yet I am not sad. No, no, 
all is too pure and lovely here for that , I have never 
been so happy since I was a little child ! I feel like, 
and am almost, a school-girl here. Bead history with 
Mr. Pinkerton every day, practice music, and draw- 
ing, and French with Mrs. Genau. She is very kind 
and very lovely, teaching me in many ways. The 
He Montaines are her dear friends, and, with a few 
others, form a nice social circle. They speak very 
kindly of you, w^hich pleases me, you may be sure. 
We would so love to have you come here for a visit 
when you come home again from France. Is it not 
good in these two dear friends to have taken a foolish 
little body like me to their home and hearts ? It is 
surely the least I can do to be bright and cheerful 
that I may cheer and comfort them. Mr. Pinkerton 


92 


THE LAMARKS. 


calls me ‘ ‘ Sunbeam,” and Aunty Genau puts her 
arms around me and presses me to her breast. , Her 
kisses are so warm and mother-like that I sometimes 
hide my face in her bosom and let the tears come. 
Oh, Theresa, darling, no one but a motherless child 
who has so long been unloved can know what a bless- 
ing it is ! If every woman God puts over a 
motherless child could know how much good it 
would do, how much better that child would be 
if it were loved, and petted, kissed, and made 
much of, and felt that it was loved, just a little, 
as if it were her very own, there would be no need 
of scolding and fretting and vexation. It would 
grow up, if the patience of real love would let it, 
naturally, healthy, free — a blessing to her who had 
so blest it, and a blessing to itself and to the world. 
I sometimes think I would never have given my 
hungry heart to Edwin if he had not been my only 
friend through years and years, giving me his toys 
from the first and sharing with me the nice things 
which Aunt Lisle meant for him alone — always hav- 
ing a word of pity or help, or love when I was sad, 
or sick, or hurt — always warm and kind when every- 
body else was cold, and cross, and stern. 

I send you my darling brother’s letter, written in 
answer to the one I wrote when you were with me in 
those fearful days. How much we might have helped 
each other had we been together through these years 
past. ^ It seems so strange that we should have been 
left in this cold, cruel world to suffer so much. I do 
pray for your faith in the things that are above, but 
do not seem to learn. Your prayers will do me more 


THE LAMARKS. 


93 


good than my own. Do not forget me. One thing 
I do feel I can do no good thing of myself. I am 
afraid I shall always be just a foolish, giddy child. 

Do tell me about Edwin. Tell him how dearly I 
love him. I shall never, never, never forget him ! 
Beg him to write to me — to come to see me. My 
birth-day has just past. To think of my being 
eighteen years old ! I can scarcely believe it myself. 
I feel dreadfully old in years, but in sense wee 
enough ! Mr. Pinkerton gave me a lovely blue enam- 
eled brooch, earrings and necklace. I wish you could 
see them. He is going to take me to London. Will 
it not be splendid ? Sir Henry Edgerton was here 
a fortnight ago, and invited me to visit his daughters. 
Mrs. Genau scolds about it, wanting me to wait 
another year, at least. She said this morning, “ This 
child is as inexperienced in the ways of the world as 
a girl of fifteen. If she must go into that whirlpool 
of dissipation, child as she is, take her in the early 
summer time, when she will see both city and society 
at their best.” Mr. Pinkerton smiled. My good 
sister has not forgotten the pride of her early days. 
It might be best on some accounts, but engagements 
are then so pressing. Sir Henry insists upon having 
her now, as they remain this season in the city. I 
think she will find enough in London to entertain 
her, even at the dullest time. She must see some- 
thing of the world. Now, when I can be with her, 
is the fittest time. Who will there be — when I am 
gone ? ” His words brought the tears to my eyes. Is 
he not good to me? I did not mean to write so 


94 


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much. Do write to me. How often I long for you, 
Theresa, darling. What a friend you have been to 
Your ever grateful, loving, 

Violet. 


XLIX. 

CAPTAIN HAUGHTON TO VIOLET. 

Port P., India, Aug, Uh, 

I am deeply in your debt in an epistolary way, my 
darling Vie, and can only now and then make you a 
partial payment by way of showing my devotion. 
It was best that I was not within reach when your let- 
ter came telling of your distress. I should have been 
sorely tempted to throw up my commission and rush 
back to England. Your second letter was forwarded 
here with the other — we being out on an expedition — 
so that my commiseration was no sooner excited than 
it was relieved of present anxiety about you. I wish 
I had Uncle Lisle by the throat. I grit my teeth 
every time I think of his miserable tyranny; and as 
to his wife, she always was a silly, selfish woman, 
wholly unworthy any body’s confidence, and has 
proved herself a knave! You poor, darling, abused, 
little sister ! Xot a living soul to love and cherish 
you but your renegade Will — and he thousands of 
miles away ! 

You might as well have no brother. In my vexa- 
tion I make myself believe they got me out of the 
way that they might persecute you. However, as 
far as I am concerned, I am well enough off. The 
climate is hard on us, but, thus far, the officers have 


THE LAMARKS. 


95 


kept pretty well. If I could only be where I might 
help you. Write often, and in time. If you need 
me rd throw up the best commission the royal seal 
was ever set to to come and fight for you, my darling 
birdie. I wish I had you in my arms ! 

I have written to Mr. Pinkerton to thank him for 
his kindness to you. You can trust him. Vie. Father 
trusted him beyond any other friend, and had left 
you to his care had he been a married man. Now 
that his sister is with him it is blessed to think of you 
there. Keep up a good heart, and, bye and bye, I 
shall have a little nest somewhere, and will take my 
little birdie under my own wing. Unless, indeed, 
she finds some warm-hearted mate to help her to 
make a nest of her own. Yet I would beg you wait 
awhile, little bird. I can not realize that you are old 
enough for that. Nor can little women learn really 
to know men — we find each other out — and I want 
to know the man you put your trust in. I was sur- 
prised that you did not stay longer with Louise, but 
I understand it now. I was sorry you did not tell 
her every thing. As it is, it has turned out for the 
best. There is some talk of our being recalled in 
another year — won’t that be jolly ! When I think of 
how some of these regiments have been here half a 
life-time it seems a very little time to wait. When I 
think of many other things — a year, a whole year to 
wait — makes it seem very far off and uncertain. 

Notwithstanding the general suspense abroad, the 
anxiety of friends, and the important issues that hang 
on the result of military operations here, I sit quietly 
in my tent with every thing as peaceful and placid as 


96 


THE LAM ARKS. 


though it was pitched on the bank of the Thames. 
For once, fortune has favored us. No night alarms, 
no digging of intrenchments, no assassination of 
pickets, no sleeping in arms or useless skirmishing, as 
the regiments have that form the advance of our ex- 
pedition. If there should be an engagement, the 
fighting may be half over before we are ordered to 
participate ; but where we are allowed to move into 
action, we are expected to do wonders — to turn the 
fortunes of the day, should they be against us — to 
strengthen the wing that is wavering — to restore con- 
fidence in a panic, and finally, to pursue the flying 
foe, if he will only be kind enough to adopt that dis- 
creet mode of warfare. Then will it not be grand to 
have the historian say that Haughton’s splendid com- 
pany rushed into the field when all was hopeless, and 
bearing down all opposition, saved the center and 
^ bore off the honors and victory ! This is only a 
soldier’s dream, you know — but who would be a 
soldier did he not expect to be a hero ? 

I hope to see your valiant friend. Miss Lamark, and 
shall certainly express my personal obligations for the 
service she has rendered you — a friend in need is a 
friend indeed. It is getting hotter and hotter every 
minute ; I began in the cool of the morning. I often 
long for the bracing air of my native land and the 
sweet solace of the few friends who are dear to me 
there. Do n’t forget, darling girl, that you have a 
brother, who pledges his right arm to your service, 
call him when you will. 

Ever, with a true, hearty embrace. 

You devoted brother. 

Will. 


THE LAMARKS. 


97 


L. 

GRACE TO JEANNETTE. 

Paris, November 2c?. 

Aunt and Uncle Lisle have been to see us, Sister, 
dear ! Tesa came in with a peculiar expression — sort 
of surprised and amused, yet a little vexed, too. 

I laughed, but felt a little nervous when she said, 
^‘Aunt Lisle sends her compliments, ‘Uncle Lisle and 
I must know dear Grace, it will be such happiness in 
a foreign land.’ ” ‘ ‘ There, that will do — just sit where 
you are and let Aunt Lisle talk, she will enjoy that, 
and I will come again before you are weary,” Tesa 
said, with a kiss, and presently ushered them in. 
Why did you never tell me what sort of people they 
Avere? I thought of dear, sweet mother, and my 
heart beat quick at the thought of meeting Uncle 
Lisle. You remember how we always wished for a 
brother, to stand between us and the world. 

Was Uncle Lisle ever much comfort to mother? 
He was cold and stiff ; my heart was quiet enough 
before he went away. Perhaps it was because Aunt 
Lisle was so fussy. I followed Tesa’s advice, and 
she talked away. “Why, my child, haven’t you 
seen this, and have n’t you seen that ? We must take 
you in charge — so delightful — so charming. I should 
never weary of Paris. Edwin would be so delighted. 
When shall we come for you ? What a pity ; no, you 
do not look strong ! Dear Theresa ran away from us 
because of your illness. I shall not rest a moment. 


98 


THE LAMARRS. 


Your uncle talks of home. I am miserable at the 
thought — to leave dear Paris — it overcomes me. The 
Louvre is so interesting — art is fascinating me here. 
We English are so behind. Do nT fail to see every 
thing — one can afibrd to be tired in Paris — anywhere 
else one can rest when Paris must be left behind.” 

I was glad when Tesa came. ‘‘ I hope you are not 
tired of my little sister,” she said, pleasantly. ‘^No, 
indeed,” said Aunt Lisle. “Grace is charming!” 
“ Charming girl 1 ” grunted Uncle Lisle, and I opened 
my eyes wide. “ VV^as Edwin agreeable, my dear, 
Theresa?” Aunt went on, “He is a wild fellow 
— quite accomplished. The continent is the place to 
polish young men ; I can not think of him leaving this 
yet, though his father will talk about the counting- 
house. That would be too bad — he has had such a 
fine start — it will take a year or two to finish him.” 
“I am only afraid it will finish him,” Uncle Lisle 
said with astonishing energy. “ The less a young man 
sees of Paris, the better — you ought never to have 
brought me here ; Paris is no place for an English- 
man.” “You had better let Uncle Lisle have his 
way,” said Tesa. “We shall see you very often — so 
fortunate to have found you.” And Aunt went on 
so that nobody had a chance to speak again. 

How glad I was when it was over. What a queer 
world this is ! 

I have not told you of our visit to Luxembourg 
Palace, darling Sister. It is beautifully grand. Its 
interior is very interesting. The senate sits here, in 
a beautiful hall, ninety feet in diameter— a semi- 
circle, with the seats rising one above another, and 


THE LAMARKS. 


99 


beautifully and appropriately decorated. There is 
here a gallery of the works of living French artists; 
as soon as one dies, his paintings are at once trans- 
ferred to the Louvre — so that the collection is con- 
stantly changing. Besides the library, chapel and 
bed-chamber of Maria de Medici, who built this 
palace two hundred years ago, here is the gorgeous 
throne room, where the first emperor was crowned — 
upon the throne is the chair in which he sat, and it is 
magnificent ! The walls of the room are covered with 
beautiful paintings by the first masters ; the whole 
room is said to be the very grandest — the most superb 
room in Paris ; it is certainly very gaudy and showy. 
The gardens almost equal those of the Tiiileries — 
fountains, statuary, grand avenues, exquisite flowers. 
Sister, dear, it all seems like fairy land — and so im- 
mense, yet so unreal and unsatisfying, making one 
sorry that they need ever shut their eyes or that they 
will so soon get tired out with the very excess of it. 

Adieu. Ever your loving 

Grace. 


LI. 

THERESA TO JEANNETTE. 

Paris, November 2d, 

Dearest Janet : 

What does this mean ? Aunt Lisle has outwitted 
me this time. She and Uncle Lisle came to see us 
this afternoon in the most lovely mood — insisting upon 
going to our room to sit a while with Grace, while 
Edwin has a little talk with yon ! ” Is it not a little 


100 


THE LAMARKS. 


curious, to say the least of it? Edwin does not im- 
prove upon acquaintance. I did not intend to tell, 
how Violet thought of him night and day, and how 
devotedly she loved, or what a hero she thought him 
— and did not say one word about her letter. His 
light, Parisian gossip was very distasteful to me, par- 
ticularly about women, and the way he talked about 
Violet. ‘‘ Vie was a charming little girl — still quite 
a child — such a want of style — but a nice little country 
sweet-heart that no man expects to marry.” I ex- 
pressed some surprise. ‘ ‘ A man can hardly help 
feeling all this in Paris. By Jupiter, I once thought 
I was ready to die for the little woman, and could 
never love any body else ; but when a man gets abroad 
in the world, these little affairs seem quite boyish ! ” 
I did feel angry and indignant when I heard that 
father and mother had tyranized over the little girl, 
and had been deceiving me for months and months ; 
but then you know, it ’s natural — they expect great 
things of me — one can ’t blame this sort of thing. It 
would be rather slow for Vie and me to settle down 
together — quite silly, when one can make a tip-top 
match. By Jupiter, Paris never seemed so charming 
as it seems this very day, my charming Coz ! ” I was 
vexed and indignant. ‘‘You are the very man who 
ought not to be in Paris,” I said. “ One so fickle and 
and ready to run after novelties, had better be else- 
where.” Thinking of Violet, and that it might not be 
too late, perhaps, to make one plea to save him from 
this whirlpool of dissipation, “Violet loves you de- 
votedly — you are the impersonation of goodness and 
purity, in her eyes— -as true and faithful as she is her- 


THE LAMARKS. 


101 


self. If you want to be a happy man, you had better 
turn your back on Paris and naarry her — she will have 
you, I dare say, though she is worth a dozen of you — 
and settle down to some useful pursuit, as an English 
gentleman should.” ‘‘ Cousin Theresa, if I had such 
a mentor always by my side it would be easy, perhaps, 
but here in Paris, I have been turned out to scores of 
jolly fellows to keep up my spirits, and pretty women 
to keep up theirs. Mother is bent on my being a full- 
fledged Parisian. Father growls, but we get the one 
thing needful. After all, one might as well float 
with the tide ; this life of pleasure is charming, and 
one's conscience ceases to be troublesome by and by.” 
‘‘ The more pity,” I said. ‘‘ I should think better of 
you if you encouraged it to keep you in the right 
way.” 

I do feel sorry, J anet. He is a flne looking young 
fellow — graceful in manners, talks well ; but for his 
2/as, and a sort of drawling, affected by young men 
here ; rather foppish in dress, but on the whole, has 
the making of a clever man, if he had a sensible 
mother. I wish either they or we were a thousand 
miles away. Aunt Lisle insists upon seeing Dr. Ber- 
enger, to beg that she may have us for a few days. 
I would rather be put in the Conciergerie. I am 
really ashamed for Uncle Jean to meet her. She is 
grosser than ever, in her Paris finery, and I hope my 
young hopeful will never be in the way of being in- 
r troduced to any of the scholarly professors and enthu- 
siastic students, who frequent our salon at such 
hours as they are not in attendence upon the lectures 
at the academies. I mean to tell Aunt Lisle that I 


102 


THE LAMARKS. 


think she will be sorry all her life if she leaves Edwin 
to run the risk of the life he has already entered upon 
here. But enough of this. Write us here again, we 
will have letters forwarded, if any come after we go. 

Love to all, from your fond 

Theresa. 


LII. 

THERESA TO VIOLET. 

Nov. 2d. 

Your letter has reached me, dearest Violet, and I 
can tell you in reply that I have seen your hero — 
Edwin Lisle. I think he is a good deal spoiled by 
false education at home and abroad. If I were you 
I would be as happy as possible, and as indifferent as 
possible. When you are both more mature, you will 
probably meet, and then you will know how much 
you love each other. I must say, frankly — and you 
certainly can not take offense at it — that I like you a 
great deal the best, aud would like to see your heart 
in the keeping of some better man. If you improve 
your opportunity, as you should, you will be too old 
for Edwin in six mouths. Aunt Lisle is more execra- 
ble than ever. I admire her son for his kindness to 
her and his patience with her foibles. It is his duty, 
and the best thing I have seen about him. Let her 
have him ! Just wait cheerfully and patiently the 
issue of events. God has some good plan for you. 
Trust in Him, my dear little Violet. When some 
good, true man claims your heart you will likely 
find it garnished and free from this old rubbish. 


THE LAMARKS. 


108 


ready for some new, undreamed of happiness. I 
wish you were here with us. Mr. De Montaine will 
bring you the latest accounts of us, and tell you of 
Paris, the city of wonders. I should not know where 
to begin. Be sure to write to me often and freely. 

With love, yours, 

Theresa. 


LIII. 

GRACE TO JEANNETTE. 

Paris, November 3d. 

I come to you with open arms and a heart full of 
love, my own dear sister, to thank you for your 
precious letter received a few days ago, so welcome, 
filling our hearts with joy. How sweet a home letter 
is in a foreign land none can know but one who feels 
it. Yet my poor heart cries out, I wish so much I 
was with you. The tears would come as I read 
your dear words of love — deep, yearning, grateful 
love — welling up from my inmost soul with every 
drop. I just wanted to have my arms around your 
neck, and to tell you how precious the old home is, 
and how precious the thought of it, in the midst of 
every thing here. I dreamed last night we were all 
together on the porch, with the quiet fields all 
around us, and the blessed little chapel’s soft chime 
was calling us to worship. 

There is no Sabbath here. Yesterday it seemed 
like some great gala day — more festive, more Babel- 
like, and pleasure-seeking than all the week, if that 
were possible. Theresa told Uncle Jean he must ex- 


104 


THE LAMARKS. 


cuse US, and beg his friends to do so, that we must 
have our Sabbath. Mr. De Montaine took us to the 
English Chapel. Our own precious service always 
falls like dew upon the heart. It seems a sort of 
heavenly portal, where the light comes down, and 
our souls can rise without impediment even with this 
atmosphere of dissipation about us. It did us good 
— though memory recalled some sad, miserable 
thoughts — such sadness as we love to cherish. How 
I would love to fly to you and tell you what happi- 
ness those little missives brought to your loving sis- 
ters way over the waters. And all this while our 
ever good, patient sister has not once thought of her 
own care and loneliness. Oh, sister dear, I want so 
much to be like you — you are so kind and dear to 
me, cheering me with your loving, sweet words, yet 
I am not deserving. Not a day passes but I do so 
many things I am sorry for. I try to be careful, but 
my conscience gave me a hard prick as I read your 
words of praise. Did you ever think how hard it is 
to be gentle and yielding at one time and proof against 
temptation and importunity at another ? I can’t help 
wishing I was more like Tesa. If it was not for her 
I should be dragged from one end of Paris to the 
other. It is so hard to say no — for me I mean. Tesa 
says it so gaily and decidedly : ‘‘ No, no. Grace has 
seen enough for to-day. She can not go out to-night. 
We will stay at home ; but may we not have the 
pleasure of seeing you here ? ” And what can we do 
but let our friends come and make it very pleasant. 
I shall be strong and well soon, I hope, and then I 


THE LAMARRS. 


105 


mean to be a real help and comfort to you both, and 
to return a little tithe of the great debt I owe you — 
pay it I never can. 

I wanted to write you of our visit to Notre Dame, 
but it is too late now. I could not feel the spirit of 
worship amid its gorgeous decorations and embellish- 
ments. It is fitting, perhaps, that every thing grand 
and beautiful and costly should add to the magnifi- 
cence and splendor of temples that are dedicated to 
God, but it is so different from the purity of the soft 
tinted walls and ceiling of our own little chapel where 
the spirit can go right through, unattracted by any 
show or glitter, which seem to absorb every sense 
here. I felt deeply, for the first time, ‘‘ how the 
things which are seen are temporal, but the things 
which are not seen are eternal.” One gets nearer to 
God by faith than sense. 

Fondest love and kisses to all. My heart is 
brimming over with love. I just long to be with 
you all again ! How much good it does one to go 
away from home. I never appreciated dear Blue- 
berry before. 

Fondest embrace, from your devoted 

Grace. 


LIV. 

THERESA TO JEANNETTE. 

November hth, 

Janet, I sit down to write in a perfect fever of dis- 
gust and indignation. Edwin Lisle has absolutely 
persecuted me for two or three days ; he is here 
before we are ready to go out in the morning, comes 


106 


THE LAMAEKS. 


to dine, and intrudes upon us in the evening. I have 
pleaded engagements, tried in every civil way to let 
him see it was not agreeable, but he has been too 
stupid or impertinent to understand me. I can not 
tell you how vexed and annoyed I have been. Yes- 
terday he came for us to drive — we were just setting 
out. Uncle Jean, who saw my annoyance, though I 
did not mean that he should, abruptly begged to be 
excused, and ordered our coachman to drive off, 
when the young gentleman dismissed his carriage for 
a saddle horse, and rode near us wherever we went, 
passing and repassing at every turn. To-day I have 
not only declined to see him, but have returned the 
silliest note I ever read — a declaration of love from 
Edwin Lisle to me ! Did you ever know of any 
thing so preposterous? Well, words are inadequate ! 
If I did not know how conceited and vain he is, I 
should pat him on the head, and say, ^‘Poor little 
fellow ! ” But even then I should be afraid he would 
think me enamored, as he thinks half the women in 
Paris are ready to die for him. 

Interrupted by a visitor — Aunt Lisle ! She begs 
me to give Edwin a little comfort ! I absolutely 
stared at her. Do n’t you see, child, it is the very 
thing,” she ran on — “He fell in love with you the 
first time he saw you — forgot all about the troubles 
of Amanda Viola. If you give him a little en- 
couragement he will be as happy as a prince — by 
and by you will refuse him, of course. He is, though 
very clever, too young for you. After loving a 
woman like you. Vie will be too insipid for him. 
These affairs are never very serious, especially in 


THE LAMARKS. 


107 


Paris. He will get over it after you go away. He 
will make some brilliant match, by and b}^ — he will 
be a fine man — only make it right pleasant for him as 
long as you can.” 

“Aunt Lisle, this miserable, contemptible folly is 
unbearable ; Edwin will be destroyed by it, body and 
soul. Can you fill his head with nonsense and deaden 
and corrode his heart by thus trifling with the noblest 
and purest of human passions, lead him to the top 
of a precipice, push him over, and not expect him to 
fall? Make no cat’s-paw^ of me in your scheming — 
I thought one trial of that had been enough. I shall 
see Edwdn again ; I wdll help him if I can, beg him to 
follow his fathers counsel, and then he must never 
speak to me again. Nor you. Aunt Lisle, not once — I 
neveiMvant to see you again ; I hate deception, I hate 
this mischievous manoeuvering.” She extended her 
hand and tried to mollify me. “You are such a queer 
creature, one can never understand you; I see no 
necessity for all this indignation. Can I see Grace?” 
I said, “Yes, but not a word of this,” and led the 
way to our apartment, w^here, leaving her with Grace, 
I seized my portfolio and ran away to pour it all in 
your ear. Is it not abominable ? I despise her and 
pity Edwin the more. Do you believe I can do him 
any good ? It might be possible ; I might have some 
influence over him. I shall think over it and pray 
over it, and be of use to him if I can. Did you ever 
think such a thing could be ? 

Uncle Jean has had a letter from Aunt Theresa, 
who is very impatient for us to hurry to her ; but for 
the illness of one of her household, she had joined 


108 


THE LAMARKS. 


US. She says, it is always so, I really can not trust 
you in Paris, without me, dearie ; you stay one day 
after another, for this .or that, and never think how 
the time flies for you and how it drags with me with- 
out you. There are, too, the dear girls, without a 
chaperone, and you, immersed in the academies; 
where is your sense of propriety and consideration ? 
Come, now, you must not stay any longer. I shall 
certainly expect you before the last of the w^eek.” 

Uncle says, Now, you see we must give up Paris, 
it is not fair. I am not surprised — she would be more 
impatient still, if she knew how charming the poor, 
dear girls are ; but I have not neglected you, have I, 
my darlings? Now tell me, honestly, have I taken 
good care of you?” ‘‘Who can doubt it,” I cried, 
“ with Madame Fournay, next door, for counsel, 
Madame Drouillard, Madame Romaine, Madame De- 
tonier and Aunt Lisle ! Who can say we have wanted 
for chaperones? And as for escorts. Uncle Jean has 
been a host in himself. Auntie will applaud your 
gallantry when I tell her ‘ all about it.” “There 
has been a host besides himself, too. Ah, you 
silver tongue, I am really afraid of the consequences 
when the time comes to start — no wonder their eyes 
and ears are bewitched.” “Come, Grace, now tell 
me true, wTbat do you think of le grand American ? 
or is it that young Araldine, who is burning the mid- 
night oil until he looks as pale and pure as yourself? 
He takes the first honors every year! He is my 
choice — unless our Cousin Victor wins the day — he is 
a royal youth ; he may have you if you will spend 
half of every year at Provence.” “We English girls 


THE LAMARKS. 


109 


are very deliberate in these things ; yon shall certainly 
know when I have fully made up my mind,” Grace 
replied. ‘‘I think we will go to-morrow, if we stay 
as long again, there will still be a hundred tempta- 
tions to keep me longer. Well, when Grace is 
stronger and better able to enjoy it all. Auntie will 
come with us, and you shall be presented to the 
Empress, and see something of the best society in the 
world. Can you be ready to-morrow ? No modistes 
to keep you waiting. Everything ready? Well, 
then, we will go. Let us slip off quietly, or there will 
be a great ado.” 

So farewell, Janet, until we get to Provence. 

Yours truly, 

Theresa. 

P. S. — Farewell Paris. I add a few lines. We 
are just starting. I send you a package by Mr. De 
Montaine, who returns to England this evening, and 
is determined to go to see you. You will be delighted 
with him, Janet. I am vexed with myself for some 
reasons — that I do fft love him with all the strength 
that I have — but I do n’t, and there is the end of it. 
He is so accomplished and refined — so intellectual and 
agreeable. Why are we women so perverse? He 
takes you a note of introduction from me. The cap, 
for Aunt, tell her it is the latest Parisian style. The 
scarfs are for Madeline, the barbs and laces for your- 
self. If I had known there would be such an oppor- 
tunity to send you some souvenirs of Paris, I should 
liave much enlarged the package; however, I will 
not forget you when I come back. I return the let- 


110 


THE LAMAEKS, 


ters you sent, with a copy of the note I sent to Edwin 
Lisle. 

Mr. De Montaine will tell you how well Grace has 
been. I am glad, on the whole, that you will see 
him. I have written to Violet, who wrote to ask me 
of Edwin Lisle. I did not want to give her pain by 
abusing him, as I felt inclined to. She will outgrow 
her love for him where she is. Now, the truth would 
almost break her poor, weak, foolish little heart. 
Time will make it all right, when some handsome, 
ardent lover begins to teach her how a man ought to 
love the woman he wants to marry. 

Yours fondly, 

Theresa. 


LV. 


THERESA TO EDWIN LISLE. 

Cousin Edwin: 

You were too angry and unreasonable to compre- 
hend any thing I said to you last night, and I now 
write in as plain English as I can command, that there 
may be no misunderstanding between us. It is absurd 
for you to talk of love to me — such love as men and 
women feel who expect to marry. I was too old for 
a man like you, ten years ago. I can not listen, with 
patience, to any expression of love from you — it is 
the sheerest folly in the world, and yet every woman 
does feel an especial interest in those who are at- 
tracted to her. I would like to respect you — to esteem 
you — or at least to help you to escape the Scylla or 
Charybdis that threatens to destroy you — go which 


THE LAMARKS. 


Ill 


way you will. Now, throw this paper in the fire if 
you choose. I know men hate this sort of talk, and 
you can heed or not, just as you please. If you w’-ant 
to be respected, you can be ; it depends entirely on 
yourself. You can waste your talent and your time, 
your money and health — be a namby pamby, drawl- 
ing, English, Parisian fop — or worse — a bye- word — a 
shame to your friends ; or you can be a well-educated, 
useful, happy, Christian gentleman, making the* 
world better and wiser because you live in it — you 
can be respected and beloved by all who know you. 
You have a warm, good heart, a bright mind, and hand- 
some person. By well-directed culture you would be 
a pride to your friends and a cousin whom I should ad- 
mire and esteem, and welcome cordially wherever I 
might be. You have only to go earnestly to work. 
Choose your place — a profession or mercantile life — 
whatever your taste inclines you to, and when you 
have made up your mind, go at it with a will. You 
can do it in Paris, though it might be easier in Eng- 
land, at your old home, away from all this turmoil of 
pleasure and excitement — but you can do it right 
where you are if you have resolution enough. Where 
else are there such splendid opportunities ? Where is 
there such intellectual activity ? Where is there such 
glorious encouragement to achievements? You must 
determine to excel, with a manly earnestness that will 
overcome every temptation and obstacle — nay, use 
them as stepping stones to rise on ! Is it not worth 
trying for — trying hard for — making sacrifices for? 
How strange it is that men so often heedlessly throw 
their lives away. I should think their very selfish- 


112 


THE LAMARKS. 


ness would make them choose the better way. 
Edwin, stop and think over it — pray over it — if you 
never prayed before. I will pray for you that, God 
may bless you. That is really the most valuable of 
treasures — God’s blessing. Those only who strive to 
lead pure, faithful lives as Jesus taught — following 
his commandments, can hope for His blessing. 
Edwin, my cousin, will you not be one of these? 
Yours, sincerely, 

Theresa Lamark. 

Paris, November 4th. 


LVI. 

Paris, Nov. 5, 18 — . 

Theresa Lamark : 

You have made me furious, but you have made me 
think. I can not tell how it is — what angry passions 
flamed out — until a spirit of deep resolve seemed to 
awaken in my heart and to extinguish every bitter 
thought. Will you see me again? Would to Heaven 
I had always had such an outspoken friend. With 
God’s help you will not henceforth be ashamed of 
your cousin, 


Edwin Lisle. 


THE LAMARKS. 


113 


LYII. 

THERESA TO JEANNETTE. 

Chateau de la Belle Monte, Provence, France, 

Nov, lOthy 18 — . 

Dearest Janet, here we are, Grace and I, in Prov- 
ence ! Who would have dreamed of such a thing a 
few months ago ! We enjoyed the trip from Paris 
greatly. Saw many lovely and some grand views— 
most of all the mountains are beyond mere words. 
Yet there is something provoking in railroad travel 
— to have the landscape shut out from the eye every 
instant by some homely near object, just when one is 
most interested. Stations are stations every -where, and, 
saving local peculiarities, strange costumes, and signs, 
and vehicles, railway travel is extremely matter-of- 
fact. 

To have followed the Saone and the Rhone nearly 
to the sea is something worth remembering, but the 
Rhone, like every thing else in the world, passes 
some dismal places as well as some very grand and 
lovely ones, and I am too tired to stop now to tell 
you more of our journey down. I am glad we are 
here. You can not imagine what a charming place 
it is ! Au revoir ! 

Do not ever call me a dreamer again. This home 
proves that my dreams might all be realized under 
favorable circumstances. Here we are, for an hour’s 
rest before dinner, in our chamber ! Grace is lying 
upon a pretty, rose-colored, chintz lounge, and the 
8 


114 


THE LAM ARKS. 


daintiest pink and white curtains shade our windows ; 
a flood of sunlight is half shaded out of the south 
windows by a lattice covered with vines ; their perfume 
pervades the air. The delicate pink and white is 
every-where — in frills upon the book-shelves, in soft 
folds about the bed and dressing-table, in cushions 
and mats, and Bohemian and Chevres vases, in the 
soft carpet, and on the walls. 

There is a vase of cut-flowers on the little table, a 
lovely crape-myrtle is in full bloom at the window. 
Such exquisite harmony in every thing that meets the 
eye. Now, Janet, do you wonder that I am delighted 
with this beautiful taste, so varied all over the house 
— yet equally perfect in the library, the drawing- 
room, dining-hall, every-where — adorned with curious 
specimens of minerals, shells, flowers, curious things 
from every part of the world, indicating cultivation 
and refinement and knowledge. Our visit will be as 
profitable as delightful. You will never talk about 
my unfortunate ideality again. I always knew such 
things might be, now I see that they are. I will cer- 
tainly take some of the primness out of Blueberry 
when I get home, and you will see what pleasant 
changes busy hands can make without any extrava- 
gant outlay. Oh, Janet, I am so grateful to you for 
sending me where there is so much to enjoy. Grace 
stood the journey very well. Uncle Jean was very 
kind. He has a singular eye to effect for a man, and 
was determined to surprise Auntie by coming upon 
her just at the happiest hour. 

Therefore we passed the night at the nearest vil- 
lage. In the morning, after our refreshing rest, re- 


THE LAMARKS. 


115 


moving all the dust of travel, we drove along the 
Durance, in the cool morning air, as calm and fresh 
and bright as though we were taking our morning 
drive at home. The grand mountains in the distance, 
the river, which takes its rise in Mt. Genevre, flowing 
down, with all the life and changefulness of water, in 
the light and shade of the bright morning sunshine, 
the brown vines, all stripped of their foliage, loaded 
down with purple fruit, on the hillsides ; here and there 
rows of olives, lemons, and orange-trees, birds sing- 
ing, every thing telling of the sunny south. Turning 
an angle, passing a grove where oak, birch, elm, re- 
minded me of our native forests, and the Chateau 
lay full in view — a handsome though not pretentious 
building, with great chestnut and mulberry-trees not 
screening but shading it. As we drew near, the fig 
and myrtle in the open air, and the rich pomegranates, 
told of the southern clime. The porches were covered 
with delicate vines. ‘‘What a charming place!”! 
cried. “ The grand mountains seem to give such repose 
to every thing near them,” Grace added, happily. 
“ Ah I ” said Uncle Jean, greatly pleased that we 
knew how to admire the beauties of La Belle Monte, 
a tribute to his taste, “ how happy I am to have 
brought you to our home.” We alighted at the porch 
de cochere. “ Ah! there she is.” And as Aunt Theresa 
emerged from the door, he caught her in his strong 
arms and almost smothered her with his great beard. 
“How happy I am that you are come at last, dear 
girls,” she said, with a soft, sweet voice and tender 
caress. “ It is perhaps too cool to rest here. Ah, this 
is better. Here Grace, dear, rest in this easy-chair. 


116 


THE LAMARKS. 


Ah, Jean, this has been a great treat to you to have 
these fair young demoiselles under your wing ! ” “I 
have been an enviable man, but am thankful they 
are safely here, for it was a dangerous undertaking. 
I was constantly fearful lest some one should try to 
carry off one or the other. Now you are responsible. 
Our Provencal knights are dangerous fellows. So be 
wary. But we will not be ready for dinner ! ” Adieu. 
Let us hear from you often, dear Janet. Tell Made- 
line to give you a hundred embraces. Grace says ‘ ‘ a 
mutual remembrance.” 

With love to Aunt R., ever 

' Therese. 


LVIII. 

GRACE TO JEANNETTE. 

Chateau he la Belle Monte, 

November 12, 18 — . 

I have been sitting at the window. Sister dear, 
looking toward the west until the sun has gone down. 
There is a strange, purple light in the air which re- 
calls to my mind many sad thoughts. Just such a 
Sabbath evening, a year ago, we sat upon our own 
home porch, watching the sunset and the purple light, 
which has been somewhere in my heart ever since — 
Theresa with Madeline’s head on her lap — you and I 
— my hand between your two. 

The soft-toned bells of the chapel, sounding sweetly 
in harmony with the far-off village chimes, were the 
only sounds that fell upon the silent air ; every thing 
was calm and peaceful and very lovely. Presently, 


THE LAMARKS. 


117 


Mr. Lacy came along, on his way to the evening serv- 
ice, and waited, talking to Theresa and Madeline, 
for you and me to join him ; you lingered for Aunt 
Rachel, and he and I walked on toward the purple 
light, wheje the little church stood. He tried to teach 
me something true and useful in that little walk, 
which I have not forgotten ; I could not learn it then, 
but I have learned it since. Can it be possible that 
it was only one year ago ? The words had made me 
sad from other lips than his — of the sufferings of 
Christ, and how we could never love Him as we 
should, until we, too, had suffered and borne some 
sad cross, and he would have reproached you and 
Theresa for never having let me suffer any of the 
petty cares and sorrows of life — but I would not 
listen ; I was sorry for his sadness, but my heart could 
not be cast down. ‘‘Does not His love and His 
present glory belong to us as well,” I urged. “ Yes,” 
he answered, “ but the story of His love is a story of 
earth — a story of great sorrow ; and His glory is the 
glory of heaven. We must not hope for lasting joy 
or continuous peace in this changeful world. In the 
Divine life is joy — in the human, sorrow. As a 
faithful pastor, I must teach you to mistrust every 
thing in life but your faith in Christ and in heaven ! ” 
“And my faith in you,” I added, smiling ; he smiled 
not in return. “Nay,” said he, “ mistrust me, too.” 
I was touched by his sad humility, and revered him 
I for it — it all fell on my heart in the purple light! 
The experience of an hour is worth a volume of words. 
I have found my cross — I pray it may teach me to love 
my Heavenly Master more. In my human life, sad- 


118 


THE LAMARKS. 


ness, but then, Janet, when this is past — joy, glory, 
forevermore ! I almost wonder I did not go in the 
summer-time, I thought I should surely go — it seems 
to me that would have been best — but then I would 
not have learned some things this cross is teaching 
me. God knows best. I am not impatient, but I 
do not think it will be long. 

I am weary, dearest, good night. I will write 
more another time. ‘‘God bless us, every one,” as 
little Tim used to say. 

Good night — good night. Your weary 

Grace. 


LIX. 

MADAME BERENGER TO JEANNETTE. 

Chateau de la Belle Monte, 
November 15, 18 — . 

My Dear Xiece : 

Theresa has gone to ride with our Cousin Komaine, ^ 
and Grace has retired to her chamber, so that I shall 
be scribe to-day. How can I ever thank you enough 
for sending me these dear, beautiful girls. I had 
almost expected to be disappointed, as my anticipa^ 
tions were high ; but when I looked upon them, and 
Theresa said, “Why, Auntie! how lovely every i 
thing is ! ” I thought I had never seen any one so ^ 
beautiful. The golden light on the waves of her 
auburn hair, the bright flush on her cheeks, the soul 
that beamed forth from her shining, ever- changing, 
incomparable eyes — the exquisite poise of her 
beautiful head — her beautiful form — words can not ^ 


THE LAMARKS. 


119 


express it! And Grace, there beside her, a very 
angel, pure and almost radiant. The picture was 
perfect— the contrast enhanced the beauty of each. 
I did not wonder at the triumphant look my husband 
cast upon me, when he saw my surprise and delight. 
‘‘ I have brought an English rose and lily for your 
bower,” he said. ‘‘Nay,” said I, “rather two fairies 
from old Fairy Land,” they seemingly so unconscious 
of all this admiration, yet I know Theresa is too 
clever not to be aware of it. Ah ! it is well they 
have not been far from Blueberry Hall, or they had 
surely been spoiled by adulation. 

The Chateau has already become the center of 
attraction for the whole neighborhood, and I am 
afraid many hearts will have to suffer. Grace seems 
to shrink from attention — Theresa to enjoy it ; indeed, 
I tell her she is almost cruel, or at least, will have to 
be, in the end. Her French is excellent, and she 
can engage a half dozen in conversation without effort, 
apparently. With those who understand her English, 
she is even more fascinating. You must imagine how 
I enjoy all this ; I sometimes feel that I am living my 
own youth over again. If Grace were only able to 
enter into all the gaieties, I fear we would all be 
carried away, for Dr. Berenger takes as much interest 
in the young people as I do. 

You must not think, for a moment, that Theresa is 
selfish or inconsiderate ; her devotion to Grace is 
touching — her first thought is always for her sister, 
and nothing is neglected that can contribute to her 
health or happiness. 

I know you will never get any of this from the 


120 


THE LAMARKS. 


girls, themselves, so I am determined to tell you, 
though it does sound like exaggeration. I am full of 
the pride that they belong to us — and all my love of 
kith and kin is centered on them. 

Our excursions will depend entirely upon how fast 
Grace improves, and the weather ; for any one with 
delicate lungs can not bear the chill winds that occa- 
sionally drive down upon us from the frozen summit 
of the mountains; however, it will be some time 
before we will need to fear them — we may have some 
weeks of favorable weather, and can safely venture 
as far as Vaucluse, in a close carriage. There are 
many, many objects of interest all around us — old 
Roman antiquities every-where — and they must see 
Marseilles, Toulon and Nice, and all the most notable 
things of Provence before they shall think of Italy or 
home. 

I think Grace is better ; her cough is almost well. 
Every thing that the tenderest affection or that med- 
ical skill can suggest — always under Dr. Berenger’s 
experienced hand — will be done to restore her to per- 
fect health. She seems to enjoy every thing, in her 
sweet, gentle way — though never gay, she is always 
apparently serene and contented. 

Ever, dear Janet, your Aunt 

Theresa. 


THE LAMARKS. 


121 


LX. 

JEANNETTE TO THERESA AND GRACE. 

Blueberry Hall, Nov. ISth^ 18 — . 
My Darling Girls : 

I have waited to hear from you before writing. In- 
deed I shall have so little to tell you, now that we 
are left to ourselves, that it seems scarcely worth while 
to write. Yet I know home-letters are always wel- 
come. We miss you sadly. The house is so still and 
lonely that I have taken Madeline from school. I 
will try to rejuvenate myself by making a companion 
of her. We will abandon the house and be out of 
doors as much as the weather will permit — thus we 
will be less constantly reminded of you. 

I am rejoiced at the kind reception you have met 
with, and that all your surroundings are so delightful. 
Pray don’t be too much carried away with them. 
Remember ‘‘the hearts aye, and the parts aye,” if 
you can keep surroundings in their right place and 
not let them assume undue importance. It is all very 
well, and I shall be well pleased to see Blueberry 
freshened up, but whenever I find that you are dis- 
posed to think that rose-colored frills, and vases, and 
brackets, and book-bindings are the great things in 
life, then I shall demur ; for then the love of the 
things of this world will “choke the good seed,” and 
all true happiness in the enjoyment of the good 
things God has given us will go by the board. Going 
into raptures over a beautifully bound book always 
provokes me, you know. The gems of thought, the 


122 


THE LAMARKS. 


pearls of great price, that are scattered over its pages, 
are nothing to some people in comparison to the fil- 
agrees of gold on the Russian calf of the outside. It 
is worse than childish. I can enjoy beautiful things. 
I think I am not deficient in matters of taste, and am 
truly glad my dear Theresa has been able to realize 
some of her ideals, but this happy experience will do 
her more harm than good, if she is not very wise — 
wiser than most people ever are. 

There is nothing new with us, excepting Mr. De 
Montaine’s visit. Theresa, I almost wish you would 
be sensible for once and fall desperately in love. He 
is a charming man ? It seems to me quite your heait 
ideal. Nay, scarcely either, lacking, as he does, the 
one thing needful. AVhen I discovered that he could 
have no sympathy with you in the deepest, most 
precious experience of life, I reversed my judgment, 
but from a worldly point of view he seemed unex- 
ceptionable. He was here but a few hours. Many 
thanks for the pretty things — the barbs are exquisite. 
I don’t think Aunt will ever venture to wear that cap. 
It is almost too much for her to have it in its box ! 
She takes it out daily and looks at it ; but unless she 
goes to a court presentation I don’t think she can 
ever be induced to keep it on over five minutes. 

Write very often of every thing you see. If you 
tell us how things look to you, that will be next best 
to seeing them ourselves. Don’t put us off by saying 
you will tell us this or that another time, when you 
come home again,” then we wont thank you. Who- 
ever fulfilled such a promise ? 

It will rest you to write, dear Grace. When Theresa 


THE LAMARKS. 


123 


is engaged, I expect we will have to look to you to be 
the principal scribe, now that she is so carried awajr 
with the novelty of her new surroundings. Let me 
know just how you feel. Your tender reflections 
touched my heart. I have not forgotten that sweet 
Sabbath evening. I hope we will have many more 
like it. It did me good that you recalled it so vividly. 
AYhen your thoughts and feelings come to me thus 
naturally, I feel as I did that twilight, with your 
hand between my two. It brings us very near to each 
other, darling little sister. It does my heart good. 
Always remember how dear you are to me. 

Thank Aunt for her delightful letter just received. 
A bulletin from her now and then will enlighten me 
greatly. I hope she will always be able to send me 
such gratifying reports. Thank her and Dr. Ber- 
renger, for their great kindness to you, with my 
love. 

Madeline wants to write, but I have begged off for 
this time. Aunt says, ‘‘ Don^t fall in love with 
any Frenchman. Kemember you are English, and 
should be Englishmen’s wives.” 

Your anxious and affectionate sister, 

Jeannette. 

LXI. 

GRACE TO JEANNETTE. 

Chateau de la Belle Monte, 

November 19, 18 — . 

Theresa and I have been trying not to forget our 
Christianity to-day, dearest Sister Janet, but it has 
not been easy. Sunday is an especial holiday here. 


124 


THE LAMARRS. 


and the house has been thronged with guests all day 
long. My recent illness has, happily, given me an 
excuse for retiring whenever I feel like being alone, 
and I have taken advantage of it to-day to enjoy a 
Sabbath, in spite of these mirth-loving people. 
Theresa has just gone down to the drawing-room. She 
had spent most of the day with me, but feared her 
friends might think she was casting some reflections 
upon their habits, which she wished to avoid. I did 
not gainsay her conclusions, for I know they are 
always impatient of her absence — she is the life of 
every gathering. I do not wonder Blueberry was 
often so dull to her, when I see what a favorite she is. 
The consciousness of her power to please has brought 
out all her sprightliness ; she is captivating all around 
her. I do not wonder at it — she is sometimes very 
beautiful, and always brilliant when excited by con- 
versation. Yet, though it gratifies my sisterly pride, 
it makes me sad, for it seems heartless — she is winning 
many hearts and she can never bless but one, and de- 
clares to me her actual indifference to all. Do you 
think it is right ? She says it is nonsense to think it 
means love. There is no love about it, only the social 
enjoyment of a passing acquaintance. Theresa always 
was a mystery to me ; I know she is far wiser in the 
ways of the world than I am, but it can not be right, 
and I do wish. Sister, you would caution her, and beg 
her not to be so heedless for others. We have been 
out in the open air daily. I think I am stronger. 
Next month, if the weather is fine, we will leave 
here and spend a week or two in visiting interesting 
localities in the adjoining departments. A unt Theresa 


THE LAMAKKS. 


125 


seems to have friends every-where. We will take our 
time— it will be very pleasant, for there are a great 
many antiquities, and much that is new and interest- 
ing to us. 

I strive to take an interest, and not to mar the 
happiness of others by my sadness or weakness, but 
sometimes it is quite an effort, and I long for our 
quiet home, where you always let me do just as I 
please; perhaps such self-indulgence would not be 
best for me now. 

The necessity of exerting myself helps me. Dr. 
Berenger seems to know it, and always has some kind 
plan to propose for my especial benefit, which I can 
not decline. 

Theresa is very kind and considerate ; when any 
thing is proposed, she always says, “ Certainly, we will 
go to-morrow, if Grace is well enough,” and when 
Aunt adds ‘‘ Ah, she will be quite bright, never fear,” 
what can I do but be pleased, and go wherever they 
will. When I get weary, I just look beyond it all — 
over the beautiful views and wild scenery, and old 
ruins, far off. Some times wandering through the 
familiar home places, along the beck, through the 
meadow and the woods, into the chapel, or through 
the church-yard. How free the mind is ! Some times 
as far as Heaven, I am soaring, when they are all 
talking about the grand arch or monument — that is 
all they see. How dull and uninteresting in compari- 
son with the things I hope for hereafter — and see, 
even now — by faith. Every thing is so different here 
from home ; I feel it particularly on these Sab- 
bath days. In religion there is so much form. Those 


126 


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who can not thus participate do not seem to have any 
religion at all ; perhaps it is not just to say. it is all 
form or nothing, but it seems so. All the week we are 
making ourselves tired, or resting ; when the Sabbath 
Comes we decline all invitations, though many come 
here, we go nowhere. I will not be tempted from my 
seclusion, nor Theresa either, until we have spent 
many quiet hours, when the day is almost past. I 
love to write to you and think of home and the past 
and future, indulging myself in the pleasures of con- 
templation. We are getting impatient to hear from 
you. I hope you have already written. 

Farewell, with kisses for Aunt Kachel and Made- 
line, and your dear, good self. 

From your loving 

Grace. 


LXII. 

THERESA TO JEANNETTE. 

Chateau he la Belle Monte, 
November 25, 18 — . 

Dear Janet : 

We are having such a delightful time at this beau- 
tiful place, that I can not help wishing, sometimes, 
that you and Madeline were both here, and that we 
were never going away again. But my heart tells me 
this is hardly true, for I should want Aunty and the 
old place with all its happy associations transplanted 
here, and then the little church-yard, and chapel and 
ever so many other things — no, it is not true. I am 
very full of life and enjoyment here, happier than I 


THE LAMARKS. 


127 


ever expected to be, but I am glad to think I shall 
one day be back among the familiar things of horiie. 
What strange creatures we are, how real and yet how 
unreal every thing is ! What is the mind but a store- 
house of images? Those things that belong to the 
past, and have no longer any real existence, are 
ranged side by side with those that have — one as 
tangible as the other. I never could get at the bottom 
of that idea of home, and of all that goes to make it 
so dear to the human heart ; I shall be beside myself 
if I attempt to fathom the mystery, and will return 
to the outside of the world we live in. 

Grace seems much better than she did ; I tell her 
I can understand that sad, far-off look in her blue 
eyes, npw that she is so far from you. She seems to 
have little heart for our present gaieties, and slips 
away to the garden, or library, or even to her own 
room, whenever she thinks she will not be missed. I 
often think those around us look upon her with a sort 
of veneration, she is so fair and quiet, and seems pained 
by any special attention. 

Louis Arnaud, who is indeed quite in love with her, 
she is almost rude to — almost runs away whenever he 
approaches her. She said to me a few nights ago, 
‘‘Theresa, you are so clever, pray never let any one 
tell me they love me.” I turned toward her and 
smiled, “How can I help it, my little sister should 
not be so lovely.” “ Do not mock me,” she said, tears 
starting from her eyes. “It is too sad to love and 
not be loved in return.” “Dear Grace, I wish you 
would not feel so sadly,” I said. “ Love is often but a 
pastime with men ; you need not fear giving them any 


128 


THE LAMARKS. 


lasting pangs.” She spoke not, but the far-off look 
in her eyes was so sad that I put my arms around her 
and begged her to open her heart to me. 

She shook her head, and when she at length found 
words, said, ‘ ‘ It is a foolish weakness. I shall be 
stronger, by and by. You have done every thing 
possible. I can bear this best alone. I am grateful 
that you have spared me words . I kissed her and 
said, ‘‘ It shall be as you will, my darling.” And so 
we lay a long, long time awake — my arms around 
her, but my heart faint with a sense of utter inability 
to help her. Once I spoke of our home. What a 
happy home it has always been to me ! And it is 
lovely here ; the earth is beautiful, but the heart loses 
its fitness to enjoy. It will not be so in Heaven, dear 
Tesa. There will this strange unrest be satisfied ; there 
will be perfect rest and peace! ” Oh, Janet, I felt like 
pouring out my grief and indignation, but there is a 
sort of sanctity in such sorrow that I dare not im- 
pair by intruding upon. We must just bear our share 
of her disappointment, and see her suffer, without re- 
lieving her one iota. There is no help but in God. 
It is so fortunate that we have fallen on these dear, 
kind friends. Their tenderness to Grace warms my 
heart far more than their kindness to me. When I 

think of my last summer’s experience at D , I can 

not help contrasting this and that. There is as much 
difference between Aunt Lisle and Aunt Theresa as 

there is between the merchant town of D and 

the mountains ! I don’t think people could be mean 
or cringing in the presence of these free and glorious 
scenes. But the trading and bargaining, selling and 


TEffi LAMARKS. 


129 


buying, the striving for money and petty advantages, 
between the close, screening walls, seems to grind 
men’s souls to dust. Grand forests, grand mountains, 
grand rivers ! No wonder the ancient Germans were 
so valiant and virtuous! Where the snow-capped 
mountains raise their pure summits, man can not mar 
nature. They may plant and build about their bases, 
and vex their souls with earthly things, but when- 
ever they look up there will be an influence that will 
elevate and refine. The English ought to be pure 
and noble with the waves of the great ocean around 
them on every side, but their great commerce has 
spoiled it all. They only think how it serves the 
ships to come and go ; the ships have become a great 
thing, and the ocean is well nigh forgotten ! 

I will try not to be miserable because I can not 
take all the luxuries of La Belle Monte back to 
Blueberry! Your words of caution are, however, 
timely. I will not be carried away, though I am not 
sorry that these things seem of more importance to me 
than they do to you. You have full permission to de- 
mur ^vhenever you see I am getting beyond the 
bounds of common sense. That we can guess before 
hand about how things are with you all, does not 
make your letters any the less longed for. 

A hug for Madeline, which she can bestow in re- 
turn upon Aunt R., from Grace and your fond 

Theresa. 


9 


130 


THE LAMAEKS. 


LXIII. 

VIOLET TO THERESA. 

Pinkerton Place, November 26 th . 
Dear, Precious Theresa : 

I have never thanked you for the letter you wrote 
me from Paris. I felt heart-sick and sorrowful at 
first, and did not feel like writing, knowing well that 
another letter would not reach you there. Then, 
other things transpired to take up my time, and 
nothing happened really worth telling you about. 
Now, I have some news, glorious news ! My brother 
Will is coming home ! Only to think of it — he has 
been three years way off in India, and now he is to 
have a whole year’s leave, and will perhaps resign. 
Did I tell you he was engaged, when he left home, to 

Louise M ? She is a very sweet girl — the one I 

was visiting when Aunt Lisle sent for me to come 
home to marry Mr. Pinkerton. Her father was op- 
posed to her marrying into the army, as she was his 
only child, and there seemed little hope of their mar- 
riage. Will could not leave the army without being 

dependent upon Mr. M , and this, his pride would 

not let him do. Now, however, Mr. M has not 

only given his full consent, but being in very delicate 
health, he is extremely anxious for Will to come 
home, that he may see his daughter happily settled in 
life, with a man whom he has always respected, and 
to whom he seems willing to intrust the care of her 
large fortune. Louise is very happy that Will’s inde- 
pendence and manly perseverance in his line of duty 


THE LAMARKS. 


131 


have won her father’s regard, though the thought must 
be very painful to her that he has delayed until he 
can scarcely hope to survive more than a few months, 
and her happiness must so soon be clouded by the sad 
affliction of a father’s death. 

I hope Will may feel it his duty to resign and stay 
near us the rest of his days. He is so noble and 
whole-souled. Dear me, how I do love him ! I wish 
you knew him, and you shall, for I will take him to 
Blueberry myself, if you will let me, and show you 
what a grand brother I have. 

Mr. De Montaine and I are very warm friends — 
you are the bond of especial interest. He never gets 
tired hearing me praise you, and I like him best 
when he talks about my darling friend. Mrs. Genau 
seems to think me such a flighty little body that she 
will never trust me with the youngsters, who naturally 
seek my society, and is best pleased when I am with 
some one she knows is trustworthy ; so she is alw^ays 
ready to let Mrs. De Montaine chaperone me, know- 
ing Isabel is very quiet and refined, and Mr. De Mon- 
taine a model of propriety. 

Is Edwin ever going to write to me again ? I have 
hoped you might have urged him to, but no letter has 
come. I wonder at myself, but I can’t forget him. 
Do write to me, dear, precious Theresa. If I could 
only see you, now that you have seen Edwin. It has 
been so long — more than two years since I saw him 
last — he is surely forgetting me. I am ashamed to 
say so much, for I know you think me very weak and 
foolish, but I never speak of him to anybody else, 
and when I write to you my heart just cries out. 


132 


THE LAMARKS. 


Did I tell you Mr. Pinkerton is going to take me 
to London as soon as Lady Edgerton returns to the 
city. I am so glad. I do want to go. I long for a 
change. Suppose I should meet Edwin there ! Good 
bye. All send love. Do you know Isabel De Mon- 
taine never speaks of you ? What is the reason ? I 
had a mind to ask her, but did not dare to. 

Ever, your loving 

Violet. 


LXIV. 

JEANNETTE TO THERESA. 

Blueberry, November 26, 18 — . 

1 have just had a visit from Mr. Lacy. He did not 
know you were away ; having heard of Grace’s ill- 
ness, he came to inquire for her and to see you 
especially ! He must have seen my embarrassment, 
for I did not mean to treat him kindly ; but, Theresa, 
he looked so pale and sad, and was so calm and self- 
possessed, that there was no excuse for any foolishness 
on my part. 

After the ordinary topics of conversation were ex- 
hausted, as he expressed his grief that Grace had 
been so ill, the tears started in his eyes, and he con- 
cealed his emotion with difficulty. He must know, for 
he delicately avoided saying any thing more about 
her, and went on to speak of you. He has been 
deeply hurt by your unkindness and want of frank- 
ness — your determination to avoid him, and yet he 
feels that he is not an object of entire indifference to 
to you. I did pity him, he seems so very unhappy ; 


THE LAMARKS. 


133 


Our troubles we have brought on ourselves — he is not 
really to blame for any thing. I was acting in the 
light of all I knew, but I can see my mistake plainly 
enough now, and fear from what he has said, that you 
know more than you have ever told me. I told him 
I did believe you had confided your feeling to me, 
and that you had gone away in the first place because 
you thought it best for Grace and best for him. 

I wish you could have seen him when I said it, 
Theresa! He flushed deeply. “Child’s play,” he 
said, bitterly. “ Will Theresa ever cease this folly ? 
A heart is but a bubble before her breath. She has 
done a great, cruel wrong, a deep, lasting injustice, to 
at least one that she loves, if not more than one ; and 
yet — will she receive a letter from me ? ” “I can not 
tell you,” I replied. “I can not give you her ad- 
dress, but if you will trust me with one I will send it 
to her — it can do no harm. Yes, yes, it might,” I 
cried, upon a second thought. “ It were best not. It 
might give Grace pain.” I looked at him keenly 
when I said it. He leaned his head low down upon 
the table and I believe he wept — yes, wept I Oh, 
Theresa, how it pains to see a man so deeply moved 
and hurt 1 When he grew calm enough for words he 
said, “ I dared not say that I dared not think it. I 
am bewildered, and have been for months past. I 
have striven to serve my Master with a serene mind, 
and might quell the yearnings of my heart did I not 
fear to do still another wrong. 

“ As a father loves a fair child, as a brother a fond 
sister, I would have made any sacrifice to have made 
the purest being I ever knew happy, but I could not, 


134 


THE LAMARKS. 


dared not, act or speak a lie, and have been willfully 
forced to be indelicate and unkind, or to do violence 
to every sentiment of my heart. 

“ There was no choice. I would never have sought 
Theresa again. I would have crushed my love for 
her though my heart had in the same hour been 
crushed. But I believe all this is a bit of unselfish 
romance on her part ; and, with all its wrongs and 
folly, I believe that she loves me, and I love her more 
passionately than ever for this evidence of self-denial, 
and can not, will not, disappoint her love, for I know 
her better than she knows herself. I must speak to 
her this once again, for the last time, leaving with 
her the responsibility as to what shall be. Can I be 
here an hour alone ? ” 

I gave him my writing-desk, and scarcely know 
what to think. I do wish you w^ere here ! Our plan 
w^as grand — a beautiful scheme to make people mis- 
erable ! Oh, if we had only learned our lesson a little 
sooner ! 

He gave me his letter — a noble letter, such as he 
only could write — and went out, leaving me to read 
it. When he came back again I said, ‘‘ I can not send 
this. I will keep it till she comes home.’’ ‘‘ Then let 
me have my letter. It may be a long, long time. 
You may tell her what I have said. I can not wait. 
I must hear from her now. I can bear any thing 
better than this weary uncertainty. Can you not copy 
my letter and send it? I must hear from her. Jus- 
tice to her, no less than myself, makes it imperative.” 
I said, ‘‘Yes, that I can do.” Then he took my 
hand and said, “Tell her — impress upon her if you 


THE LAMARKS. 


135 


can — hm solemnly earnest is every wordy , and how sol- 
emnly I shall take her answer He has gone, and this I 
send to you. All this seems unnatural in you. Are 
you indeed insincere, and heartless, and frivolous? 
I can not believe it, nor can he. How faithful and 
upright and patient he has been. My woman’s heart 
is won. For your own sake, and in the fear of God, 
do not trifle. If you have ever done so, do it no 
more. Your motives may excuse you to yourself, 
but do not alter the effect your actions have upon oth- 
ers. Answer at once, and let your reply be yea or 
nay, once for all. 

I send a letter for Grace by the same mail, that she 
may feel no curiosity to read this. 

Yours, with doubts for the first time, 

Janet, 


LXV. 

KEV. EDWARD LACY TO THERESA. 

Blueberry Hall, Nov, 2Qthy 18 — . 
My Dear Theresa : 

You will doubtless be surprised to receive a letter 
from me from Blueberry. I am at your sister’s desk. 
I came here to see you and Grace, of whose serious 
illness I had just heard. I find you are both in Prov- 
ence — she much better, with encouraging hopes of 
entire recovery. 

I can not express to you how grateful I feel at this 
cheering intelligence. I do trust and pray she may yet 


136 


THE LAMARKS. 


be strong and well ; a consummation I had scarcely 
dared to hope for. 

In her the Divine seemed to me always to beam 
through the human, mortality to be swallowed up of 
life — corruption to have put on incorruption, and the 
angel to supersede the human. As she grew to matur- 
ity I have almost fancied I would see her wings ex- 
pand, bearing her away to the Heavenly Home, as 
to her native habitat. 

And now, my dear Theresa, I must have a frank 
talk with you. I have long been troubled and per- 
plexed, as you must know, at the course you have seen 
fit to pursue toward me. To say that I am tired of 
it, would but faintly express my state of mind. I 
left my home and beloved parishioners, as you know, 
if no one else does, solely because your strange hallu- 
cination of romantic self-sacrifice placed me in a 
position from which it was impossible to extricate 
myself in any other way, without wounding the feel- 
ings of one very dear to me, but who could not take 
the place in my heart which long had been yours^ 
alone. 

From this very circumstance — which, to others who 
know you less thoroughly than I do, might appear to 
indicate indifference to me, and from many other acts 
which have seemed to me constantly to prove your 
words, if not insincere, certainly not frank — I am 
constrained to feel that you are not irresponsive to 
my affection. 

To me you are dearer than life. I have for more 
than three years loved you with a devotion that words 


THE LAMAEKS. 


137 


can not express, nor time diminish, nor circumstances 
change. You know this by word and deed. I have 
declared it, and you have never yet once frankly re- 
sponded to my suit. Neither have you at any time 
so repelled it as to make me feel it to be hopeless. 
On the contrary, I have believed, and now believe, 
that your heart is mine. You can not evade me 
now. I am determined to speak the whole truth, 
and leave to you the responsibility of deciding 
whether you will yield to the honest dictates of your 
own heart, if not to the pleadings of mine ; and I 
earnestly beseech you not to do violence to your own 
pure and noble nature, or to jeopardize your own 
happiness, however I may suffer by your final de- 
cision. 

I know you always seem to have had a large meas- 
ure of what the world calls pride and ambition — 
doubtless the outgrowth of the rare attractions and 
faculties with which God has blessed you, and is in- 
cident to the exuberance and hope of youth — but 
you will realize some time, as I have long since, that 
all that has nothing to do with the source of real last- 
ing happiness in life. The test may come when you 
least expect it; when, freed from exaggerated and 
vain imaginings, your own independence of mind 
and good sense will emancipate your true woman’s 
heart from all such trammels. 

I shall never intrude upon you again if you frankly 
tell me that you do not wish me to. I will serve my 
Master in the future, as I have in the past, in minis- 
tering to His people and to all He died to save. 


138 


THE LAMARKS. 


better and more faithfully for having known and 
loved Theresa Lamark ! 

Do not, therefore, allow any thought of possible 
suffering for me to influence your decision. You will 
still ever be to me a joy and an inspiration — my own 
heart’s true and exalted love. Nothing that can 
transpire in the future can rob me of the past; that 
at least is secure. Its hallowed associations make 
even its sufferings dear to me. You will not think 
that I accuse you of insincerity? No, you have been 
from the first seeking to avoid being insincere. You 
have sought to withhold every expression of affec- 
tion, lest in the future you might disappoint the love 
that trusted you implicitly. 

Your self-testing has already gone too far. If you 
do not know me and yourself well enough now to 
come to a decision, you never will, and I demand it 
now f It is my right ; and whatever it may be I will 
accept it, still with undiminished love, as final and 
irrevocable. 

Yours, with ever-living and growing devotion, 

Edward Lacy. 


LXVI. 

JEANNETTE TO GRACE. 

Blueberry, Nov. 27th. 

I send you an especial note, my darling Grace, 
with one to Theresa, by the same mail, so that each 
of you may be content with your ow'n share of home- 
news. I would caution you, particularly, in regard 


THE LAMARKS. 


139 


to your wardrobe in going upon the excursion, of 
which* you wrote. Take plenty of warm clothing, 
even if the weather be very mild when you start. 
Your clothing you must constantly change to suit 
the weather. If you are too warmly clad, the pores 
of the skin will be relaxed, and be extremely sensi- 
tive to the least cold. You will have to exercise ex- 
treme caution. Your own feelings will be the best 
guide. If you are not very careful and watchful, with 
the hot winds from the African coast, and the cold 
winds that come down from the frozen Alps, there 
must be very dangerous changes. 

We are all well, but are sorry that the leaves are 
beginning to fall. Vegetation has not changed much 
— some few flowers are left — but when the first leaves 
fall we know it will not be long before they fall faster 
and faster, thicker and thicker, till the trees are 
all bare. I am glad you are among the buds and 
blooming flowers ; in the spring-time you must fol- 
low them back again to us. Will it not be a happy 
time ? 

Many friends inquire after you, and would write 
if they thought you cared to have any other than 
home correspondence. Let it be as you wish, I will 
deliver any messages you send. Aunt wants to 
send you further words of caution, but I think I 
have said enough. Madeline says, Tell Grade it 
was bad enough when Mamatesa was away, but this 
is ever so much worse. The house is as still as an 
empty church.” God bless you, darling. 

Ever, devotedly, your Sister, 
Janet. 


140 


THE LAMARKS, 


LXVII. 

THERESA TO JEANNETTE. 

La Belle Monte, Dec. 2 d, 18 — 

Dear Janet : 

We are about starting upon our excursion. The 
weather is fine. Grace seems quite happy, and we 
all anticipate much pleasure. A number of friends 
will accompany us. We will travel by private con- 
veyance, for the most part, and take as much time 
as will be agreeable. We will go first up the Durance 
to Sisteron, if all things are propitious ; thence to 
Digna. If we get tired there before Uncle Jean does, 
we will go about the neighborhood, perhaps even as 
far as Riez, while he is making collections for his cab- 
inet. We will go to Castellane and see the great salt 
springs there ; to Grasse, and, possibly, to Nice. 
Grasse is said to be a beautiful place. Uncle Jean 
has relations there as well as on the borders of the 
lovely vale of Calame, near Brignolla. Thence we 
will go to Toulon, and along the sea to Marseilles, to 
Aix, a place of great interest, to Avignon, which we 
scarcely saw in our haste to get here, and, last of all, 
to the famous fountain of Vaucluse, and home again. 
Will it not be charming ? 

If the weather only continues fine until we get 
home, it may storm as it will about this bright, beau- 
tiful place where there is so much to learn and enjoy. 
Will it not be delightful ? Grace and I are provided 
with journals and portfolios. We will both try to 
write daily — Grace for you, and my journal shall be 


THE LAMARKS. 


141 


for Madeline. It will be written in French. So she 
must study hard, or she will never be able to read it. 
And I will make some famous sketches for her that 
she can look at until she is able to read what is 
written. 

You will probably not hear from us until after our 
return — it will be at least a fortnight, and perhaps a 
month. Aunty has friends every-where, so we are in 
no hurry. 

The Greeks, who first settled this region, have left 
traces of their civilization, but the ruins are compara- 
tively rare and hard to identify, for the Romans, who 
succeeded them, wrought up every thing after their 
manner, and their works can be pointed out every- 
where — and grand they often are. There is some in- 
teresting modern architecture. The old and the new 
commingling add interest to each other. I am full of 
enthusiasm, and expect great profit and pleasure from 
our tour. Greeks, Romans, ancient Gauls and mod- 
ern French! And how many countless wayfarers 
have enjoyed the same prospects and breathed the 
same soft air, through two thousand years and more ! 
We hope to hear from you before we start. 

Ever, fondly, 

Theresa. 


LXVIII. 

THERESA TO JEANNETTE. 

La Belle Monte, Dee . Mi . 

Dear Janet ; 

I am shocked at your temerity in sending this letter 
here ! It is a marvel that it did not fall into Grace’s 


142 


THE LAMARKS. 


hands. It is safe now in ashes, given to the wind, 
and happily carried away, for aught I know, as far as 
Vaucluse, to mingle with classic dust. As to your 
doubts, I can soon dissolve them, but it shall be done 
when I can do it verbally. You may tell Mr. Lacy 
that he shall see me if he so wishes. I had said in 
half a year — for until Grace is well in the spring, I do 
not want to see him — but when four moons have waxed 
and waned, if all goes as we hope for, we may be well 
and happy at Blueberry, then he may come. I am 
glad you are his friend and have set me so good an 
example of forgiveness. Tell him, “ the fourth of 
April ” he may come — he will understand. 

We are all ready to start to-morrow. Do not be 
anxious, we will watch over Grace every moment. I 
sent a letter yesterday. Grace seems brighter than 
usual. Thanks for your letter, she will write before 
we go, or at our first stopping place. 

When we return from our long travel we will send 
our journals, to make amends for our long silence. 
We will get no letter from you until we return. If 
it is very important that we should hear, send a letter 
and order to be forwarded. Dr. Berenger will leave 
word about it. 

Hoping I am not the wretch you think me. 

Yours, ever, 
Theresa. 


1 




1 


'■J 


THE LAMAKKS. 


143 


LXXI. 

GRACE TO JEANNETTE. 

SiSTERON, December 7, 18 — . 

I can not think that it is winter at home, it is so 
lovely here. I write you a letter, dear, good Sister, 
while they have all gone for another walk, because I 
did not write before starting. I have enjoyed the 
morning greatly. 

The river Buech enters the Durance here, hemmed 
in on both sides by great natural rocks ; the united 
rivers run foaming beneath a lofty arcade, on which 
stands the fortress of La Baume. It must be very 
grand when the river is at flood height ; at this season 
it is quite low, yet it is very grand and picturesque, 
even now. There are Koman inscriptions here ; the 
cathedral is worth visiting, and there are other things 
of interest. Albertes, one of the Provencal poets, 
was born here. He, too, loved a Laura — the beautiful 
Marchioness of Malespine. He is considered more 
unfortunate than Petrarch, for he died of love. Those 
only who never loved, must have reflected thus — was 
not Petrarch most unfortunate in not being able to 
die ? If he could have died and gone, as Dante did 
in his glorious vision, through the celestial paradise 
with his Beatrice — would it not have been joy to 
him ? And even if poor Petarch must have gone and 
left his Laura in this world, how soon his free spirit 
would have found some thing worthier there to love. 
Ah ! his life-long hopeless devotion is most to be com- 
miserated ! 


144 


THE LAM ARKS. 


You must not think me sad, dearest Janet ; I am 
happy enough, and could not be otherwise to-day, for 
I had such a beautiful dream last night. Do you 
remember my telling you I should love to die when 
the flowers were blooming, when the air was full of 
perfume and melody, and all the fields and woods green 
and bright in the sunlight? Now, I have another 
wish ; last night I retired very early, the murmur of 
the water was music to my ear, I had watched the 
sunset, I had turned to look upon the snow^-capped 
mountains ; my heart was full of their beauty and 
purity ; the air was soft and sweet, and as I lay awake, 
the moonlight fell first on the white curtains and then 
on the couch ; I raised my hand and felt almost as 
though I touched the light. It seemed to grow 
brighter — I looked up and mother^s beautiful face 
was smiling over me. She looked as I remember her 
from my childhood, but so fresh and shining (once I 
saw her thus — last summer when I lay ill) — her robe 
was long and white and lustrous. She took my hand 
— ‘‘Come, darling, I have waited so long, now you 
may come.” I felt my mother’s hand clasped tenderly, 
and as I turned I saw my father ; had it not been for 
his dear eyes I would not have known him, for I re- 
membered him pale and wan and suffering. Oh, 
what a glorious change — this was perfected beauty 
and vigor — golden wings, like those the Greeks gave 
Mercury, were upon his feet; a golden halo shone 
about him, its radiance mingled with the cloud-like 
folds of my mother’s robe. I heard the murmur of the 
water, I saw the moonlight, bright as sunshine now, I 
felt delicious motion — onward, onward, onward, and 


THE LAMARKS. 


145 


then we slowly seemed descending, and alighted on 
the snow in our own church-yard! I would have 
turned toward the graves but they led me me into the 
chapel ; it was filled with the dear home friends, and 
green and fragrant with Christmas cedar and holly. 

Why are they all so sad and weeping? Ah! some 
one is dead,” I murmured. ‘‘ Look on the dead,” my 
father said, and Janet, dear, dear Sister, it was me ! 
it was your own, poor Grace — it was this poor feeble 
body I live in now, and Auntie and Aunt Kachel and 

you and Madeline, Tesa and Mr. Lacy, with 

many more, a little separate, stood weeping sadly. 

A stranger at the desk, who spake sweet words of 
truth, of peace, of hope. And then there was no 
sound but sobs. I thought you must have seen me, 
and I was moved to words. ‘‘ Why must this be ? ” I 
cried. Behold me, here am I ! ” You could not hear 
or see. “ Why do you stand weeping over that which 
is no longer her you love ? ” I put my white arms 
close around your neck, my sister. I stood before 
Theresa, with a cry of joy. I put my hand on Mad- 
eline’s head, and blessed her, but you could not hear, 
nor see, nor feel. Then I, too, wept, and turned to 
where my parents were. ‘‘Speak! They will listen 
to you! Father! Mother! Touch their eyes that 
they may see ! Do not let them grieve. Why need 
it be ! ” “ If they had faith, the Master’s words would 

be enough. They would not sorrow thus. They will 
not hear His voice, nor mine, nor thine. The world 
is growing wiser — spirit life is drawing nearer earth. 
It will, ere long, make itself seen, and heard, and felt,” 

my father said. The sweet, familiar voices rose in 

10 


146 


THE LAMARKS. 


dear, familiar words. I would fain have lingered, 
hut they hade me, ‘‘ Come, come. Heaven awaits 
thee ! Why delay ? ” Upward and onward. Upward 
and onward, through the peopled space. More beau- 
tiful scenes, more beautiful music, more glorious 
brightness, in the glow of rapture, the buoyancy of 
perfect health and strength. 

Oh, Janet, if you could but know what a Heaven 
it was ! There was a sudden darkness. I started, 
dismayed and appalled. Tesa said, ‘‘ What is it, 
darling? ^ I have just put out the light to come to 
you. You have had a sweet dream. I saw the smiles 
— would I had shared the brightness! ” ‘‘I was in 

Heaven, dear Tesa. I wish you had been there. Oh, 
it was wonderful I Can it be it was but a dream ? I 
would gladly sleep and dream this dream forever and 
forever.” She kissed me tenderly, and we slept, but 
I did not reach my Heaven again. 

Oh, my sister, will it not be sweet when it shall be 
reality to me. Listen to me, dear. Then I can not 
make you hear. You must not weep nor wear that 
mourning garb. I will not have it so. It is wrong. 
You could spare me to live here for years, if you 
knew I would be strong, and well and happy — and 
now in Heaven I shall be perfectly well, perfectly 
happy, and perfectly blessed beyond your conception. 
I shall be with those I love, with those who love me 
— my father and my mother. We will come to you. 
We will watch over you, though you can not see us 
— for hath He not said, “ He will make his angels 
ministering spirits ” — and you will soon come to us. 


THE LAMARRS. 


147 


Why will Christian men and women, who know there 
is no way to Heaven but death, why will they 
grieve ? 

Your sorrow was the only sorrow of my angel 
vision. I shall be there, my darlings, and if you weep 
I shall weep, too — that you will thus weakly dis- 
honor the Master by want of faith in His Heaven. 
Now I hope it will be in the time of snow — when the 
beautiful, pure snow is every-where. The tender 
sounds and sighs of summer might tempt me to 
linger. 

I did not think to write so much — they are coming. 
Tesa seems troubled since we left Belle Monte. I be- 
lieve Blueberry is dearer to her than ever before. 
Love to Aunt and Madeline. 

Dear sister, forever your 

Grace. 


LXX. 

THERESA TO JEANNETTE. 

Nice, December 24</i, 18 — . 

Dear, Dear Janet : 

Are all our bright hopes of earthly happiness at an 
end ? Thank God our Heaven lies beyond ! Dear, 
darling, precious Grace is almost There ! I can not 
weep. Some times I think I can not realize it! We 
had had such a beautiful journey. She seemed so 
well and happy. It was the last week of our ab- 
sence. A few days more, and we would have been 
safely lodged in the Chateau. There came a sudden 
change — a cool, north wind, with rain — the wind 


148 


THE LAMARKS. 


shifted to the east. It grew colder. Then came a 
little gust of snow, and she took cold. Her cough 
became suddenly distressing. I shudder to think 
of it — how long we have feared it! Wasting her 
precious life away with every drop ! It did not last 
long. She seems better, but, dear Janet, I fear there 
is not much hope ! Will you come to us, or shall we 
take her to you ? 

Dr. Berenger begs me not to be so anxious, assur- 
ing me that her case is not by any means hopeless : 
but I do feel painfully anxious, strengthened only by 
the bright hope of everlasting joy that lies before her ; 
but for this life, hope seems to have died within me. 
Darling Grace is so strangely — not strangely either — 
it is not strange that He fulfills His precious promises 
— so wonderfully supported ! I never saw her hap- 
pier in her happiest days — she comforts us all. The 
sad longing has given place to the heavenly radiance 
of immortality. Oh, Tesa, darling, is it not kindly 
done ? So painless. I thought I was falling asleep 
— not to dream of my Heaven, but to awaken there, 
forever and forever. I thought it was surely God’s 
time, but He knows best I ” Murmuring, “ Sister will 
be glad to see me,” she fell asleep. May He who 
knows our need have mercy upon us and help us. 
We will do our best until we hear from you. I will 
write again to-morrow. 

Fondly, and anxiously, 

Theresa. 


THE LAMAKKS. 


149 


LXXI. 

MADAME BERENGER TO JEANNETTE. 

Nice, December 2Sih. 

Theresa is lying down, my dear Niece. I persuaded 
her to do so with difficulty, promising not to leave 
dear Grace for a moment, and to write you as to her 
condition. She is certainly better — has taken nour- 
ishment, and were she less angelic, I do not think we 
should feel seriously alarmed. Dr. Berenger and Dr. 
Campbell, with whom he has consulted, both say that 
they have seen far worse cases restored to comfortable 
and even robust health. 

Grace is pure and lovely as an angel. There must 
be a Heaven for such as she, I can not doubt it. The 
Great Kuler of the universe could not disregard, 
much less deceive such beautiful faith and hope. Dr. 
Berenger said to her this morning, “Dear Grace, I 
am glad to see you so bright and free from pain, and 
to tell you you are quite out of danger.” “Uncle 
Jean, do not say that ; do you mean out of danger of 
going to Heaven ? Oh, that will be joy,” she whispered. 
“ I never felt before as I do now, how good God is. I 
can not tell you how grateful I am, and how sweet it 
will be to go to Him. When I am awake I think of 
Heaven and of all that awaits me there. When I 
sleep, I see it all even more clearly in dreams ; some- 
times my Savior comes. ‘Jesus, the very thought of 
•Thee, with sweetness fills my breast.^ Sometimes my 
father, sometimes my mother. This morning, before 
dawn, the chamber was bright ; a beautiful youth 


150 


THE LAMARKS. 


and maiden stood there where you stand now. 1 
thought they looked like you and Auntie, and I said, 
‘ I am so glad, I had not hoped for this so soon.’ 
Then the maiden shook her head and said, ‘ We were 
but babes on earth. Tell them about the Christ ; tell 
them what we are now, and bid them come — our 
mother — our father.’ ” Uncle Jean found words to 
say, ‘‘ The Kingdom of Heaven 'has surely come near 
to us, sweet Grace,” and kissing her with emotion, 
hurried from the room. I followed him in tears. He 
clasped me in his arms ; and, deeply touched, we 
shed the tenderest tears our eyes have wept since we 
buried — -Jean and I — two babes, a boy and a girl, in 
the first years of our marriage ; had they lived, they 
might have been as old as Grace is now. Was it not 
strange ? Do you think she could have seen them — 
our children f Did you ever hear of them ? We have 
never spoken of them — Jean nor I. You can not im- 
agine what strange emotions this little circumstance 
has awakened in our childless hearts — that those dar- 
lings may yet live ! Janet, I know it is wicked, but 
we have never loved or believed much in God since 
we lost them ! If God has indeed taken our treas- 
ures there, I pray that our hearts may learn how to 
get there too, and I can but feel the light and warmth 
of something in my soul that has been dark and cold 
those many, many years, until I found you all. Oh, 
could I but believe they live, and I might go to them, 
then I too, might yearn for Heaven, and have faith in 
God and His religion for the good of man. How 
much good these good girls have done me ! Are you 
coming to us? Do not let Theresa’s anxiety make 


THE LAMARKS. 


151 


you over-anxious. You shall know immediately if 
there is any change for the worse, by telegraph. 

This was to have been a glorious gala day at the 
Chateau, the time fixed for our return, and we are 
greatly disappointed. We had better wait now to 
hear from you. 

Grace says, ‘‘Kiss them all for me.” 

Affectionately, your Aunt, 

Theresa. 


LXXII. 

THERESA TO JEANNETTE. 

Nice, December 2dth. 

Dearest Janet: 

There is no change. Grace seems very weak, but 
takes a little nourishment every few hours, and we 
hope that she will be stronger in a few days. Dr. Ber- 
enger is extremely kind and efficient, and has delayed 
any close examination of the condition of her lungs 
until she is somewhat stronger. A celebrated Ger- 
man physician will be here very soon, and there will 
only be the fatigue of a- single examination. I feel 
much encouraged by the accounts of many similar 
cases here, that have been completely restored. These 
weak fears make us so anxious, and yet I sometimes 
wonder at my own fortitude ; surely “ As thy days are, 
so shall thy strength be.” I have been wonderfully 
strengthened, mind and body — able cheerfully to fulfil 
every duty for her, our precious one — dearer than 
ever to my heart ; and God forbid that I should dis- 
honor Him who has thus blessed me. I have prayed 


152 


THE LAMARKS. 


that we might be lights to show the beauty oi His 
love, and darling Grace has been so patient — so full 
of hope and faith and fervor. Whoever speaks to 
her, there is the same unfaltering trust, ‘‘I am not 
afraid.” ‘‘ Who would not long for yon beautiful 
Heaven?” ‘‘Whether we live or die, we are His.”' 
If in moments of great anxiety, I can not restrain the 
too-ready tears, I run away to the darkest covert, that 
Christ may not be dishonored by them. I have tried 
to honor Him, to let them see that His love can raise 
us above even the keenest sorrows of life. 

Darling, precious one, I can not bear the thought 
of parting with her, and yet it is Heaven that awaits 
her. Earth, with its many cares and sorrows, is not a 
fitting home for one so lovely and so pure. Such, God 
takes to Himself in the bright, fragrant, joyous realms 
of Paradise. Dearest Janet, we will not grieve if it 
should be God’s will to free her angelic spirit from the 
beautiful, precious form which binds it to earth, and 
has kept it present with us. We are not worthy, 
Janet, not worthy to care for her. Father and mother 
are there — God’s ministering angels! With what joy 
they will welcome her to their celestial home, and we 
will all go, by and by, to fill up that glorious home 
circle, free from all the weakness and pangs of this 
oft, so weary world. It will be sweet to think of her 
there always, especially when the cares and pains of 
life press sorely upon us. I can not be selfish in this. 
Wicked as I am, I dare not ask that she may live, 
for God only knows what may lie beyond. And yet 
if she does — if He does — does restore her, we will know 
that it is His will — that it is best, and our joy will be 


THE LAMARKS. 


153 


unspeakably sweet and precious when we feel that 
we have been willing to suffer for Him had He so 
decreed. 

Oh, Janet ! how I long for you at times. These 
thoughts would be so strange to all here. To you, 
alone, and to Him who is ever present with us all, can 
I%pen these deep recesses of my soul. There are so 
many things that are worse than death — why do we, 
poor weak mortals, dread it? We must not, we will 
not, when these th rice-precious hopes are the gift of 
God’s love, through Him who came to show it all to 
us. Let us be more and more thankful — more and 
more cheerful, that the world may feel what a joyous 
thing it is to believe in J esus ! 

Good night. Sister mine. ‘‘ The peace that passe th 
all understanding,” His peace, is ours. Would that 
our own weakness might never mar His perfect work 
for us. 

Fondly, in every bond of love, your 

Theresa. 


LXXHI. 

JEANNETTE TO THERESA. 

Blueberry Hall, Dec. 29th, 18 — . 

I have this moment read your note, telling me that 
my beloved child is ill. Dear, dearest Theresa, what 
shall I do ? My last letter from her made me a little 
anxious, but, knowing how prone she is to these 
strange dreams, I never thought of present danger. 
I will come to her, if she wishes it — and yet I think 
she would be happier at home. It shall be just as she 


154 


THE LAMAEKS. 


says. Yet, at this season, it would be dreadful to 
bring her here, unless there is absolutely no hope ! 
Dear, precious child, how I long to be with you ! 
Shall I come, sweet one, or will you go to the warmer 
South, and get strong and well for our sakes ? Take 
Dr. Berenger’s counsel. We love you so, darling, 
how can we spare you ! And yet, God’s will be doiie. 
What could compensate us for the precious thought, 
“ That He is with each one of us, and orders each 
event in life, and calls us to Him when He knows it 
is best.” 

Little Madeline is weeping bitterly, with her head 
upon my lap. Aunt, and many others, long to see 
you, and are filled with sorrow. Let me know, at 
once, what you decide upon, dearest Theresa? I am 
ready to start at any moment. How anxious we are ! 
We will strive, darling, to honor our Master. Give 
our darling a tender embrace for me. And for your- 
self, my dear Theresa, think every hour how deeply 
I sympathize with your intense anxiety. Express my 
love and gratitude to Aunty and Uncle. Ever long- 
ing to be with you, to share your every hope and 
fear, yours, Janet. 


LXXIV. 

THERESA TO JEANNETTE. 

Nice, Dec. SOth. 

Dearest Janet : 

Grace seems very, very weak, but our physicians, 
with one from Berlin, have just given us the result of 
their consultations. They think, if she continues to 


THE LAMAEKS. 


155 


improve as she has for a day or two past, we may 
go in a fortnight to Naples. And that she will prob- 
ably be better in a month or two than she has been 
for years ! Fall on your knees and give thanks with 
me ! They think there is no pulmonary disease, but 
since her last summer’s illness her lungs have never 
been free from slight congestion — the circulation, in 
the minute ramifications of the lungs, being at times 
imperfect, especially so on taking a little cold. They 
do not seem to mind a slight hemorrhage, which we 
have stood in such terror of. 

Dearest Janet, how can we thank God enough for 
His merciful goodness? Would that we could feel the 
same tender devotion and submission when His will 
seems against us. Let us pray for it fervently for 
Jesus’ sake, and He will hear us. 

Ever, fondly yours, 

Thekesa. 


LXXV. 

THERESA TO JEANNETTE. 

Nice, Jan, 2 d, 

Dearest Janet : 

You have seen from our post-mark that we are at 
Nice ! It was the nearest place, and we are most 
comfortable here. The very place for dear Grace. 
The air is soft and pure, the roses in full bloom, 
bright, fresh flowers and fruits burden the air with 
perfume. It is like our sweetest summer days. 
Would that you were with us. Here the sky is 
cloudless and serene — and you are amid the fogs and 


156 


THE LAMARRS. 


dampness of England’s winter. In spite of all this 
beauty and brightness our hearts have been sadly 
clouded. The sorrows of human life are the same 
every-where, as are its joys. 

I have seen the Mediterranean sea ! I can scarcely 
look upon it calmly and enjoy its natural loveliness, 
for the memorable associations that crowd upon the 
mind at the thought of it. What a wealth of his- 
tory ! The great nations that have dwelt upon its 
shores — their glory in floating upon its bosom — what 
had they been without it ? No wonder that Kome, 
having the power, coveted every land that lay upon 
its shores, or that those who dwelt upon them should 
have fought for their homes to utter extermination — 
perishing as Carthage perished. 

It is strange that man thus mars, by his avarice, 
ambition and cruelty, the most beautiful regions of 
the earth, and that God permits them to live on, in 
His infinite patience. And yet we should not judge, 
for who lives or dares to breathe, save through that 
same mercy and patience. How wisely it was 
said. Let him that is without sin cast the first 
stone. 

I should have greeted this magnificent prospect 
with a loud clamor of delight — every one of us well 
and happy — had I had my way, but my eyes were dim 
with tears, my brain weary with watching, and my 
heart full of anxious sorrow for our precious one, 
whose dear head lay so still and languid upon it. 
Her pallid face was dearer and more beautifid to me 
than all the world beside. I did not know how 
quickly she might go to yon Better Land, and I > 30 uld 


THE LAMARRS, 


157 


not bear to lose a moment’s looking at her, touching 
her, holding her little soft hand in mine, keeping her 
very near my heart. 

Now that she seems so much better, and can re- 
cline near the open window, enjoying every thing 
with me, all is doubly beautiful — the ever-changing 
waters, the ships as they come and go, the clear, 
bright azure and exquisite clouds of the sky, the 
fresh, verdant landscape. The novel city, and the 
people, interest us, too — swarming on the prom- 
enade below us, and on the wide quays down to the 
sea. 

Dearest Janet, how I wish that you and Made- 
line were here, or that we had some electric photo- 
graphic art that could transfer to your brains the 
novel images that are crowding ours every hour. 
We wish that you might see this or that. Indeed 
every thing we see we want you to see, too. 

Aunt Theresa says, ‘‘ Come, Theresa, that letter is 
long enough. Tell Janet, with much love, that we 
don’t want to be selfish, but we can not spare you 
any longer now.” 

Yours, ever fondly, 

Theresa. 


LXXVI. 

THERESA TO JEANNETTE. 

Nice, January 4, 18 — . 

Dearest Janet ; 

Grace continues to improve; Dr. Berenger says 
she is doing admirably. 


158 


THE LAMARKS. 


There are a great many invalids here, and nearly 
all are benefited. Uncle and Auntie are so good — 
they have been devoted to us — doing every thing pos- 
sible, so kindly. Next week, if Grace continues to 
improve as she has done, they will go home for a few 
days, to shut up the Chateau, that they may go to 
Naples with us. 

Do not fear that I shall be alone. Dr. Campbell 
and his wife are in the apartments next to us. Every 
body is kind and attentive, sending Grace flowers and 
fruits and delicacies of every kind. Mr. Windemer 
is here — you remember — I call him “ Grace’s artist.” 
He lacks the polish of a Frenchman and the dignity 
of an English gentleman, and yet you can but feel 
that his truthfulness of character compensates for the 
first, and his warmth of heart more than makes up 
for the latter. He is agreeable and intellectual, and 
seems to feel such a tender solicitude for our darling, 
that I love him— do n’t be shocked — and I am glad 
when he shakes hands so cordially, and inquires for 
her every day — though Aunty will criticise his want 
of elegance and refinement. Dismiss from your mind 
all anxious fears about Grace, dearest Janet. Cheer 
up and be of good heart. Thank God for having 
blessed us. Pray that Grace may be stronger each 
day, and that I may be more humble in every thing. 

Kemember now, that no news is good news. 

Love to Aunt Eachel. Yours, with dearest love 
and a kiss for Madeline, 


Theresa. 


THE LAMAEKS. 


159 


LXXVII. 

JEANNETTE TO THERESA. 

January 6, 18 — . 

I am still feeling very anxious, my dear Theresa, 
though greatly relieved to know that there is no im- 
mediate danger. There is too much happiness in the 
thought that the dear child may one day be well and 
strong. I can not trust myself to let my heart dwell 
upon it — disappointment is always so keenly painful 
after bright hope. Still, I am grateful, of course — 
so grateful for this respite. ‘ ‘ Sufficient for the day is 
the evil thereof.” Let us hope — but, oh, so humbly. 
You feel just right about it, Theresa, dear, but you 
know how much slower I am in every thing and every 
way. If I enjoy less intensely, I suffer less, perhaps. 
Seeing your intensity, excitability and enthusiasm, 
has quieted me down. Your anguish hurts me more 
than my own — it is utterly hopeless and overwhelm- 
ing when it comes upon you. Somehow we are edu- 
cated by contrast, quite as often as by example. 
When you are annoyed at my placidity or indecision, 
you become more enthusiastic and quick-witted, and 
when I see the effects of your impatience of restraint, 
headlong enthusiasm and eager expectation, I think it 
is just as well that I am less hopeful, less fearful, and 
altogether prosy. What would have become of us 
without your fervor — and but for my coolness that 
had consumed us. It was the contrast often so hap- 
pily found in married people — one balancing the 
other — that has enabled us to help each other ; and 


160 


THE LAMARKS. 


now our faith — such a blessing, whenever it is practi- 
cally acted upon — has tempered us in all things ; giv- 
ing me energy — you, patience — dear Grace, courage 
to do His will. It will build up the weakest character 
and improve the most noble and exalted. Oh ! that 
all the world would but try this way — God’s way — to 
help it. 

Take Grace in your arms and embrace her thrice 
for me, darling little girl. I wish I were there to 
help you take care of her. Every body sends love. 

Your sincerely affectionate Sister, 

Jeannette. 

LXXVIII. 

THERESA TO JEANNETTE. 

January 13, 18 — . 

Dearest Janet : 

Uncle Jean and Aunty have gone. Grace and I 
are quite happy to be so dependent on each other. 
Every morning Mrs. Campbell sits with us, and her 
little children run in and out, brightening us up won- 
derfully. These little folks make me think of my 
little Madeline. Say, little one, are you good, and 
happy, and do you love your Mamatesa as much as 
ever — when she is so long and so far away ? Naughty 
little girl, where is my letter ? Do you thank God, 
night and morning, that your dear sister is so much 
better? If it be His will, I shall bring her home 
when the bright, warm spring days come again — strong 
and well — and then what walks and rambles and 
happy times we will have. But before that, we are 


THE LAMARRS. 


161 


going to wonderful Italy. Study your geography now, 
and from time to time, I will write and tell you of 
some of the things I see, and you can find the places 
on your map. Janet must show you the way from 
Paris here. This is Nice — this is an easy word — you 
can find it yourself, where France is bounded by the 
Mediterranean ; in the corner, there, close to Italy. 
Garibaldi, the famous patriot of that country, was 
born here. Can you remember that? Now, kiss me, 
little one, be obedient and cheerful, a real comfort to 
Mamajay and Aunt. One dear little girl here — Lulie 
Campbell — is a comfort to us all. I call her ‘‘ Little 
Love Blessing all,” she comes in so softly with a flower 
or some other little gift, saying, “ I thought you would 
like it, dear Miss Grace. Can I do any thing for 
you ? ” ‘‘Only a kiss, sweet heart,” Grace sometimes 
says, or if one bids her do any thing, she obeys so 
promptly and cheerfully that one can see she is not 
thinking of herself at all, but only how she can give 
pleasure — and no wonder, every one loves her so. 
Even strangers sometimes say, when they have been 
here a little while, “ What makes little Lulie so 
lovely?” Ah, my little Madeline, it is all because 
she is so loving, and such kind words always fall from 
her lips — more precious, every one of them, than 
costly pearls — she is so unselfish. Those who are 
striving to make others happy are the happiest always, 
and they please God. Think of that, little one — a 
little child may please God — by loving Him so much, 
and those about them so much — that it would rather 
please them than please itself. 

Dear Janet, I did not mean to send Madeline such 

11 


162 


THE LAMAKKS. 


a letter, but let it go. I hope you do not find her 
any thing but a comfort. Her impulses are all gen- 
erous, but she is so heedless, so difierent from Grace. 
Let me take up the thread of my converse with you. 
In the afternoon, after we have had our rest, a few 
friends are admitted to our salon. I think it does 
Grace good. She is always bright and animated, and 
it does not seem to weary her, for she listens rather 
than talks, and you know I am a better talker than 
listener. Do n’t scold — I am improving a little, but 
there is ample room for improvement yet. Now, how- 
ever, I talk for Grace and myself too ; but when she 
can do her own share, I will give her a fair chance. 
Mr. Windemer comes in very often and is always 
welcome ; he is teaching us some things about ‘‘ art,” 
that will help us to enjoy all that we shall see in Italy 
so much more than we should otherwise have been 
able to. He has told us some grand stories of the 
new world. What a young giant that nation is ! It 
will surely outstrip all the world beside, if it does not 
destroy itself by its precipitate development. He has 
been to California ! You have heard of its Yosemite, 
its big trees, its gold, its wonderful growth ! I feel 
as though it was under a magnifying glass to the rest 
of the'world, every thing there goes on such a grand 
scale ! Such an ocean, such mountains, such people I 
What ignorant country-bred mortals we are — knowing 
so little, with all our studying of this world on which 
we live ; and what is this, compared with our plan- 
etary system, and what is that compared to the innu- 
merable and vaster systems our great God has made I 
Oh, Janet, how humble we should be ! I love to talk 


THE LAMARRS. 


163 


with men who set me thinking. Ah, there he goes, 
he has been talking to Grace— pointing out the dif- 
ferent crafts, and the various nationalities of the 
vessels in the harbor. 

Grace sends much love, and says, ‘‘ If they did 
not spoil me so. Sister dearest, I could write to you my- 
self. I am so much better ; they say that I shall be 
well, by and by. I am grateful, now that it seems to 
be God’s will. This is a bright, beautiful world — every 
body is so kind — it is very sweet to live.” 

Farewell, dear Janet. Yours, 

Theresa. 


LXXIX. 

JEANNETTE TO THERESA. 

Blueberry Hall, Jan. 12th. 

Your letters have done me a world of good, dear, 
dearest Theresa. I do begin to have a great hope 
that Grace, the dear, darling, blessed child, may one 
day be well. I tell myself this, over and over again, 
trying to realize all that you and Aunty have written, 
and, sometimes, am even foolish enough to try to im- 
agine some beautiful life that she may live upon this 
earth, quite free from all its ills. You know how we 
pictured such a one, not very long ago, and yet, now it 
seems like years. Does it seem so long to you ? What 
a scheme that was ! Your imaginations have been 
profuse enough for both of ns, and we never could 
see her toiling and moiling in this poor world, but 
just taking wings, in the midst of her youth and 
beauty and happiness, and flying away in the sun- 


164 


THE LAMARKS. 


light — -we watching the glittering of the waving 
wings, until she was lost amid the glory of the radi- 
ant clouds. The suffering of last summer made us 
feel that the path God has appointed for man’s en- 
trance into that celestial paradise is dark, and drear, 
and agonizing, for the most part. So we must not 
want our way, but just trmt He will make it all 
clear, and as it is best it should be. 

And now I must enter the confessional — your prosy 
Jane. I would have told you before, but have been 
too much absorbed by Grace’s illness — and, the truth 
is, I am almost ashamed of the readiness with which 
my heart turns to its long-denied indulgence. Ah, 
there is the bell ! I will tell you about it another 
time. I am going out to drive, and may as well mail 
this note. 

Kiss Grace for me, and give my warmest love to 
Aunt Theresa and Uncle Jean. We are all well. 
Madeline threatens to write you, to kill time, if I go 
riding without her — as I shall. 

Ever, affectionately yours, 

Janet. 


LXXX. 

THERESA TO VIOLET. 

Nice, Jan . 12 , 18 — . 

My Dear Violet : 

Your last letter has been lying at the Chateau de 
la Belle Monte, for more than a month. We left 
there, for an excursion through Provence, soon after 
you wrote, and were about returning, after a most 


THE LAMARKS. 


165 


delightful and instructive trip, when Grace was taken 
alarmingly ill. We brought her here — this being 
the nearest available place — and she is now rapidly 
recovering. 

Uncle and Aunt left us a few days ago to re- 
turn to the Chateau, to make arrangements to ac- 
company us to Naples, whither we shall go in a few 
days. They came back yesterday, bringing your let- 
ter with them. 

I can give you no intelligence of Edwin, excepting 
that I have heard he is less devoted to pleasure-seek- 
ing than formerly, and is studying, with a fair pros- 
pect of success. I am glad that you express your- 
self freely to me. I am always happy to hear from 
you. Do let me be a help to you whenever you feel 
that I can. How happy you must be at your broth- 
er’s bright prospects ! God grant they may be fully 
realized. Do not fail to bring him to Blueberry. 
When we are there again we shall expect you at the 
earliest possible moment. 

My little Violet is looking forward to a visit to 
London ! I do not wonder Mrs. Genau is a little 
anxious about it ; but one must be exposed to tempta- 
tions some time, and probably Mr. Pinkerton is 
right. Pray do not be carried away or spoiled by 
any thing. It is not long since I yearned immod- 
erately for London. I do not know that I feel quite 
satisfied yet to give up the hope of going there, al- 
though this travel has gone pretty far toward curing 
me. Have as happy a time as you can, and be true to 
your best instincts. Your friends will doubtless take 
good care of you. Write to me to Naples, care of 


166 


THE LAMARKS. 


Dr. Berenger, all about your doings. I shall be 
much entertained. Remember me to Mr. P., and 
Mrs Genau, and believe me, 

Ever, your sincere friend, 

Theresa Lamark. 

LXXXI. 

THERESA TO JEANNETTE. 

January 12, 18 — . 

Dearest Janet: 

Aunty and Uncle have returned and are delighted 
to find Grace so much improved. “Ha, ha!” he 
says, “This is right, we shall make you a stout wo- 
man, yet.” “With God’s blessing,” Grace added. 
“ I can but wonder what He means to do with me, if 
I do stay down here, I am such a waif — but I am not 
a bit afraid. Only to think of infinite love and wis- 
dom and power directing my ways ! You do n’t know 
what a comfort it is to a little, weak mortal like me.” 
“ Who would not take comfort in that, darling girl? ” 
Aunty said, “ Do not let us forget it.” 

“Xow, Dr. Berenger, when shall we start. We are 
free to wander to the end of the earth. How glad I 
am to turn wayfarer again with these charming com- 
panions, after a good rest, and surfeit of the pleasures 
and cares of housewifery. Then it will be so delight- 
ful to comeback again when one is tired of travel.” 

“ I am thinking I shall be quite a care to you, good 
Aunty,” said Grace. “ You ! Why, sweet child, you 
are the fairy who has brought this all about. We 
shall be indebted to you for all the pleasure we shall 
have.” 


THE LAMABKS. 


167 


We will not start for a few days. Grace is still 
kept very quiet. When we get to Naples it will 
be time enough to give strength by exercise, Uncle 
Jean says. I wish you could have taken the drives I 
have taken since they returned. Nothing can exceed 
the loveliness of the surroundings of this interesting 
city. I almost coveted one of the elegant places on 
the heights, back of the city. We ascended to the 
ancient chateau and had a magnificent view of the 
grand amphitheater — from the distant horizon of the 
summer sea, over the tranquil waters of the quays, 
the hotels facing south to the sea, the crowded houses 
of the city ; then turning toward the north gazed 
upon the beautiful villas and gardens, and vineyards 
and groves upon the mountain’s base, to the grand 
mountain heights beyond, lost in the clouds which 
had gathered from the bright expanse of the heavens, 
to crown their summits. From our window, we can 
look upon the “Promenade Anglaise,” and a little 
beyond is the “Jardin des Plantes” — the quay pro- 
tects these from the waves of the sea. 

Here there is every afternoon a throng of people — 
all the fashion, gayety and beauty of Nice, as well as 
hundreds of strangers, who resort here in great num- 
bers at this season. We might be presented to people 
from all corners of the earth, if we wished to be. 

“ When we come again Grace will be able to share 
it all, and then you shall see how much we will enjoy 
your kindness,” I said to a new friend to-day. “If 
one could have the patience to wait,” he said. Don’t 
pity him, Janet — he will do very well — I dare say it 
is quite an old story with him. 


168 


THE LAMARRS. 


Remember me to any friends who may inquire. I 
have been so absorbed that I have not had time 
to think of any body but Grace. Do our friends 
come to see you very often ? By the way, I have 
not thanked you for your letter. Do you know 
you do not tell us any thing of home. You 
need not be so full of thought for us hereafter. I 
know we have felt much alike in all this. I hope it 
is all over now. Tell us of yourself — how you feel, 
what you think, and what you do — all about Made- 
line, Aunt, and as many friends as you choose. 

Good night. Ever, fondly, 

Theresa. 

LXXXII. 

THERESA TO JEANNETTE. 

Jan, ISth, 18 — . 

I am so impatient to know all about this romance 
that you have excited such a keen appetite for, dear- 
est Janet, by your letter just received. What is this 
confession? Oh, Janet, why did you not tell then? 
Only think of these dreadfully uncertain mails ! 
Now, I shall have to wait until we get to Na- 
ples ! 

Farewell to France! To-morrow we go to Mar- 
seilles to take the comfortable steamer for Naples. I 
will write as soon as we get there. Grace seems much 
better. There will be so little fatigue in the transition 
that it will be of great benefit to her. Oh, dear 
Janet, I am so glad we are going. Will it not be 
grand ? Now that Grace is getting better, I anticipate 
a charming time. Would that you were with us. 


THE LAMARKS. 


169 


Grace sends you and Aunt and Madeline her dearest 
love, in which I join her. Aunty and Uncle Jean 
beg that I will add theirs, too. I send wuth this a 
little note I have just received from Edwun Lisle. I 
will write to him when I have leisure. He is such a 
manly, good-hearted young fellow, that I take a lively 
interest in hinl ; and if it were not for this absurd 
folly of love that has possessed him, I should encour- 
age him to write to me often — as it is, I dare not, lest he 
should misunderstand me. I 'want to help him, and 
will do the best I can. I pity a man with such a 
mother ! — and like him for his devotion to her ! 

Adieu, fondly, 

Theresa. 


LXXXIII. 

EDWIN TO THERESA. 

Paris, January 8, 18 — . 

My Cousin: 

Will you allow me to express my sympathy ? I 
have just heard of your sister’s illness, and am truly 
sorry. Can I do any thing for you ? Do you ever 
think of me — your willing slave? Nothing but the 
thought of you has kept me here, at studies so irk- 
some, from pleasures so seductive. Of late I just 
begin to tolerate my work and to find that I am losing 
the longing for pleasures that once had such power 
over me. I get horribly blue sometimes. For God’s 
sake do not let go of me. Some of the men here are 
splendid fellows. I mean they shall respect me, and 
am working for an honor. Will it please you if I get 


170 


THE LAMARKS. 


it? With affectionate sympathy for Grace in her 
suffering, and for you in your anxiety, 

With undying devotion, 

Edwin Lisle. 


LXXXIV. 

MADAME BERENGER TO JEANNETTE. 

CiviTA Vecchia, January 22 d . 

My Dear Niece : 

We are, as you see, at this old Etruscan sea-port. 
Theresa, who is just a beginner in sight-seeing, and 
not willing to pass by any thing, has been tempted by 
Mr. Windemer and Dr. Berenger, to row to the city 
to see the breakwater and mole, forming the port 
built by the Emperor Hadrian. We are lying at 
anchor not an hundred yards from the shore. The 
city looks very ancient. The common Italians are a 
very forlorn looking people. Crowds of French sol- 
diers are in full view. If distance lends enchantment 
to the view, I am glad I am no nearer. I like the 
water best — the distant sails — those bearing up nearer 
to us — and the little boats plying along the shore— 
generally in the fishermen’s service. 

Grace seems very comfortable and happy ; she has 
not suffered at all from sea-sickness, as she has, for 
the most part, quietly kept her berth. Theresa recov- 
ered after a few qualms. I have suffered most, as I 
always do, though the sea has been as quiet as a lake. 
Dear Grace is so sweet and gentle and appreciative. 
She has a good, teachable heart — a beautiful virtue in 
the young. When thus willing to receive instruction. 


THE LAMARKS. 


171 


the character develops so naturally and admirably. 
She is reading Mrs. Jameson’s “ Early Painters,” pre- 
sented to her by Mr. W indemer. He is a valuable 
friend — has been quite a comfort to us. He has lived 
so long in this region that he has and will add greatly 
to the pleasures of the young ladies, besides teaching 
them a great deal — which, entre nous, he enjoys 
greatly. Theresa only too gladly consented to his ac- 
companying us (to the great chagrin of many other 
friends). “It is an absolute impossibility for Dr. 
Berenger to do justice to three ladies, and this appall- 
ing quantity of luggage. I am going, whether or no. 
It only remains for you to say whether I shall be left 
to the solitary devices of my own imagination, or have 
the happiness of acting as assistant escort in this little 
journey.” “There is no doubt but Uncle Jean will 
need you. You want to help him. Why not? Cer- 
tainly, we shall be glad to have you. The addition 
of one to our party so helpful and considerate as Mr. 
Windemer, can certainly do Grace no harm — what 
says my little sister ? ” “I should like Mr. Windemer 
to go with us.” “Ah, Miss Grace, you are clever — 
you must permit me to be of actual service, not a 
mere hanger-on — remember that. With Madame 
Berenger’s consent, then, I shall be here to start out 
in the van, or bring up the rear of the cavalcade. Dr. 
Berenger acting major-general.” I scarcely know 
how we should have done without him. He has just 
taken Grace in his strong, arms and carried her ten- 
derly wherever she wanted to move. Do not be 
shocked. Dr. Berenger insisted upon it, when Mr. 
W said, “Pray, let me carry her.” He said: 


172 


THE LAMARKS. 


‘‘That will be the very thing,” and it is so kindly 
and delicately done that one would be a barbarian to 
take exception to it. Through the crowds of staring 
people, on he goes as independently as though was in 
the forests of the new world. Grace, in the fullness 
of her gratitude, never thinks how it looks, but if he 
is not quite tired ; and Theresa, so anxious that Grace 
shall not excite herself or feel the least fatigue, that 
she does not care a marivedi for all the people in 
France, and actually ran away from the bevy of 
friends who were saying farewell, to keep pace with 
“le grand American,” who was bearing off her 
treasure. Theresa, in her unselfish devotion, was 
handsomer and more of a heroine than ever, and Jean 
and I enjoyed the admiration they excited, amazingly, 
as we quietly followed them down to our vessel. Some 
of Theresa’s admirers are desperate, I dare say, and 
will doubtless join us in Naples. Meanwhile they 
will be ready to devour our artist — who has so clearly 
gotten the start of them. 

Theresa will write from Naples. How I have run 
on — a gossipping letter for a matron of my years, you 
will doubtless think. 

You know the result of the consultation as to Grace’s 
condition ; she is much improved — so bright and inter- 
ested in every thing. I think her health is even now 
better than when she came to us. We hope for the 
happiest results of our journey. She may begin to 
ride out and exercise as soon as we are settled in Naples 
— then she will improve still more rapidly. 

Believe me, my dear Niece, with much love, your 
affectionate Aunt, Theresa. 


THE LAMARKS. 


173 


LXXXV. 

THERESA TO JEANNETTE. 

Naples, Jan. 23J 

Dearest Janet : 

I am at Naples ! Your Sister, Theresa Lamark, in 
Italy ! I pinch myself, and look in the glass to assure 
myselt* that it is actually me, myself, I feel like sing- 
ing: “ I have a little dog at home, and he knows 
me.” 

My demure little sister laughs at my folly. My 
wise old sister would say, Now, Theresa, do be ra- 
tional — don’t get beside yourself.” 

But, dear Janet, this is such a happiness, and 
darling, precious Grace so well, I would not be my- 
self if I were less hilarious. 

‘‘ Oh, Grace, to think that we are in Italy ! ” I 
cried out when we laid down to sleep. “Canyon 
doubt it — there is Vesuvius!” The awful wonder 
of my childhood. Yes, there is Vesuvius! We 
gazed upon it from our open window — wonderfully 
grand — the red lava streaming and steaming down 
its sides — the intervening spaces lost in the darkness, 
and all the immensity of indistinctness in the out- 
lines and in the clouds that hang about it. In its 
cloudiness by day, and its fiery brilliancy by night, 
one can but think of that Divine Presence that led 
the stiff-necked Hebrews through all their sinful and 
tedious pilgrimage. 

I did not think that I should close my eyes the live- 
long night and shut out such a glorious spectacle ; but 


174 


THE LAMARKS. 


long after, Grace sleeping soundly, weariness over- 
came my enthusiasm, and closing the window I drew 
the curtain and slept, dreaming of such prosy things, 
that I was quite vexed with myself when I awakened. 
Our voyage down was delightful — so novel — the sea 
and skies so beautiful, and the shores teeming with 
historic associations all the way along. 

The Bay of Naples is said to be the grandest in the 
world. It is impossible to give you any idea of the 
beauty of the view. Nature has been so lavish in 
her gifts that nothing man can do can ever mar it. 
Time was when the most exquisite creations of art 
were displayed in profusion every- where upon these 
shores. Kuins attest their grandeur, and add to the 
effect of nature’s beauties, look where you will. How 
bright the sky, how clear and placid the waters, how 
soft and balmy the air ! As our anchor started the 
concentric circles, the little row-boats cut through 
them, plying back and forth with their freight of 
passengers and baggage. 

While the custom-house officers were examining 
our trunks, Uncle Jean watching and scolding, Mr. 
Windemer had safely landed Grace into the queerest 
old carriage, with Auntie and myself, and presently 
we found ourselves in this charming hotel, built near 
the edge of the bay, in full view of Vesuvius, and 
of the Island of Capri. It is nineteen miles away, I 
am told, yet I can scarcely believe it — a mile away, 
in our misty atmosphere, it would not be so dis- 
tinct. 

After a little rest. Uncle Jean says Grace will be 
strong enough to go every-where with us. He is not 


THE LAMARKS. 


175 


afraid of her over-exciting herself, now that we are 
here ; the air is so warm and pure, and so much time 
has elapsed. Of course we will be prudent and very 
careful for her. 

To think that you have midwinter at home, fogs 
and drizzles and rains, and may be gusts of snow, and 
we are here in this sunny clime. It is hardly fair, 
dearest Janet — though I know you would be willing 
to live at the North Pole that darling Grace might be 
strong and well. I have faith that she will be. 

Are you not thankful ! Pray for us, and thank 
God for us, every hour ! No letters yet. I am con- 
sumed with curiosity. 

Love to Madeline and Aunt. AVe hope soon to 
hear from you. Grace sends an embrace, and Aunty 
her love. 

Ever, dearest Janet, yours, 

Theresa. 


LXXXVI. 

THERESA TO JEANNETTE. 

Jarmary 27th, 

Dearest Janet: 

We have beei^ here three days already without a 
line from home — more than ever devoured by desire 
to hear from you. I will not write again until your 
letters come. You surely have written. Are these 
Italian mails to be so dilatory and uncertain ? It may 
be Dr. Campbell has neglected to forward your letters 
from Nice, if you directed them there, which is alto- 
gether likely. I deserve it for not writing to you in 


176 


THE LAMAEKS. 


advance to send letters here before we started. If you 
wait for my letter of the 18th, it will be some time 
before your letters directed here will come. What is 
that confession? Janet, it was cruel to say just so 
much, and no more; but I will not complain — simply 
because it will not do a particle of good. When one 
is having such a glorious time, it is too bad to let one 
regret mar the pleasure. I do not think if we were 
to stay here a whole year, we would see half there is 
to see, to say nothing of the scores of delightful people 
we would like to know, and whose society we would 
enjoy more and more, the longer we stay. 

It is wonderful to see the people come and go. A 
throng from the steamer hurries to our hotel, they 
rush through Naples, buy gloves, corals and cameos 
— rush up Vesuvius, out to Paestum, Baiae, Hercu- 
laneum and Pompeii — make a dash at the churches 
— and are gone ! It does look desperate. A week in 
Naples is considered a good, long stay, and it may be 
something when one can have no more. Americans, 
who you know are a fast people, actually do” Naples, 
Vesuvius and all, in two days! It takes my breath 
to think of it. However, it is hardly worth while for 
us, who come to stay a month or two, to put on airs. 
I scarcely think we shall see the half we want to. 
Aunty and Uncle are quite at home here, and Mr. 
Windemer has the most charming friends among the 
artists and art students. What a great charm there 
is among people of intellectual culture ; those who 
read and reflect, who love nature, and the deep 
studies that true lovers of nature are sure to press on 
in. Every body here seems capable of enjoying the 


THE LAMARKS. 


177 


wonderful creations of art. Music, painting and sculp- 
ture and architecture seem as familiar to the ear and 
the eye and the tongue here, as pleasant weather or 
the rain, or the health of people are to our acquaint- 
ances at home. I feel like playing Corinne, some- 
times — carried away as I often am by the spirit of the 
place and scene. It seems perfectly natural to do 
something remarkable and romantic here. 

If the memory of you did not restrain me, and of 
another sage friend too, to be honest, there is no tell- 
ing what would become of me, when my soul is 
stirred within me. How our home-people would have 
been shocked at the fashionable audience at the opera 
last night ! Every body seemed to take in every 
note and to be en rapporte with the performers. 
Seventy-five musicians in the orchestra played very 
finely, but the singing was very unequal ; when fine, 
€very one shouted and en cored again and again, some 
times following the music with their own voices, much 
to our annoyance, though it was delightful to observe 
the lively interest and appreciation of the audience. 
When the singing was bad they hissed and howled 
outright. 

I have stayed too long with you, dear Janet. 
We ride in half an hour. 

12 Fondly, 

Theresa. 


178 


THE LAMARKS. 


LXXXVII. 

VIOLET TO THERESA. 

London, Jan. 2Zd. 

My Precious Theresa : 

I am so glad you have asked me to write to you. 
Your dear letter lies open before me, just forwarded 
from Pinkerton Place. How dreadful that Grace has 
been so ill again — so far away from home, too 1 It 
must have been so hard for you both ! Now she is 
better, I am thankful that the news of her illness and 
recovery both came at the same time. I am Avay off 
here, all by myself, in London. How gladly I fly to 
you. There is no body else I can write freely to. I 
am sure I shall need your counsel every hour. Do 
write as soon as you get this. I do not understand 
things here — am lost as it were — but I must tell you 
all about it. 

Mr. Pinkerton stayed with me a few days. Lady 
Edgerton was as kind as she could be. We had not 
a moment’s rest, there was so much to see and enjoy. 
She, and the young ladies, Eleanor and Adelaide, 
fitted me out, a la mode, I suppose ; and Mr. Pinker- 
ton was too generous in providing me with every 
thing necessary for a fashionable young lady, and 
seemed to feel a pride in presenting me to his friends. 
Unfortunately, he has been called home, and Lady 
Edgerton insisted upon my staying to finish my visit, 
as the gaities have not yet begun. Things seem differ- 
ent, somehow, since he went away. Perhaps I am 
home-sick. Certainly there seems to be a change. 


THE LAMARKS. 


179 


Last night we were all invited to a military ball. 
Lady Edgerton said, ‘‘Viola, dear, I think you had 
better stay at home to-night, with Madge. You have 
been dissipating too much. The roses are quite fading 
from your cheeks.” “ Oh, I do not feel at all tired. 
I do not think it would hurt me,” I said. “You 
will not go to night. Madge is lonely, and will be 
glad to have you. Come, we will go and find her’' 
We found Madge in her chamber, looking out of 
sorts, and I thought it quite a duty to cheer her up. 
We soon became very good friends. And, will you 
believe it, she is a year older than I am, and is still 
at school ! 

She told me that her mother is determined to keep 
her back until her sisters are married, and that is 
why they make believe she is so young. They call 
her sixteen, and she is nearly nineteen. Is it not 
queer for parents to do such things ? There are two 
or three younger ones besides. She is very pretty, 
and so wild. I call her Cinderella. I do not mind 
staying at home with her now, for we did have a jolly 
time last night. 

When they had all gone, Madge’s dressing-maid 
came down, and she sent out for ice-cream and re- 
freshments, and some of her young friends came in. 
We danced and had a gay time. I asked her if her 
mother knew that she expected company. “ No, 
of course not, you little country girl — this is on the 
sly. Don’t you tell — this is a city fashion.” I have 
felt guilty about it all day. And to-night, as they 
went off* and left me here all alone, I ran to my own 
room to satisfy my conscience, by asking you if it is 


180 


THE LAMARKS. 


all right for me to join in this sort of fun in this 
house, where I am a stranger ? 

There comes Madge for me. Well, I must go. 
Mrs. Bringle knows all about it. I can’t hear from 
you in time, of course. She says young folks must 
have their fun. I ought not to lay down rules here, 
of course. 

Good bye. I will write soon again, and you be 
sure to write at once to me. 

Yours, ever devotedly, 

Violet. 


XXXVIII. 

GRACE TO JEANNETTE. 

Naples, Jan. 28, 18 — . 

I might have written to you long ago, Sister dear- 
est, but they would not let me. Perhaps it has been 
wise. I know, at least, how well I feel — better than 
for a long, long time — so rested, quiet, free from 
pain and that old sense of weariness, that was nearly 
as bad. 

We are very happy here, being very much amused 
by the strangeness of everything. We have pleasant 
apartments at this hotel, live delightfully, and have a 
magnificent view from our windows of the interesting 
country surrounding us. 

Vesuvius is grand ! The burning lava streaming 
down its side looks like branches of coral at night. 
You might naturally think that I would be content 
just to sit still and feast my eyes, and so I have been. 
I love to sit alone and just look. If they would only 


THE LAMARKS. 


181 


leave me more to myself, I should be glad ; but now 
Dr. Berenger says my resting time is at an end, and 
now I may write and ride and walk and go when- 
ever I choose, if he sees that I am prudent in all 
things. With Theresa and Mr. Windemer on either 
side, and Aunty and Uncle to keep watch over all 
three of us, I think I shall be kept within bounds. 

Yesterday we had a long drive through Naples. 
Some of our Provence friends have joined us. Dr. 
Berenger, Aunty, Mr. Windemer and myself in our 
carriage, and Tesa, with M. Romaine, Monsieur and 
Madam Detonier, in the other. The Strada di Toledo 
was thronged with equipages and gay Neapolitans 
every-where, all smilingly happy — seeming to take 
life just as it comes. Every body lives, or seems to 
live, out of doors. The streets are very fine and 
straight, paved with great square blocks of lava. 
The buildings are not thought to be very fine, but to 
me they are often very imposing and beautifully or- 
namented. 

Good by, dear, good Sister. I have written enough. 
Will try to write you soon again. Love to Madeline 
and Aunt. Devotedly, 

Grace. 


LXXXIX. 

MADELINE TO THERESA. 

Blueberry Hall, Jan. 20 th . 
Darling Mamatesa, why don’t you come home? 
Grace is well enough by this time — every letter says 
she is better. I have been crying with all my might, 
and I want you to know it, for sister has gone off with 


182 


THE LAMARK3. 


that horrid man, and I am all alone with Aunt Rachel, 
who, you know, thinks a little girl ought to be as 
still as a mouse. She used to be so awful good when 
she was a little girl I wonder she didn’t die, like 
Ensey Gannold ? 

It vexes me a thousand times more because Mama- 
jay has been so good every day— such rides and walks 
and fun ! Tip likes her almost as well as you. Billy 
and Bob get tired carrying us. Aunt Rachel says I 
ride like a wild-cat, and I hope I do. If I hadn’t 
stuck like one you read about, Bob would have 
thrown me jumping the meadow-ditch. It was splen- 
did ! Mamajay did not scold a bit. She has been as 
jolly as you and as kind as Gracie, till this Mr. — I 
can’t spell his name — came. Now it is talk, talk, and 
‘‘Madeline, dear, run away, and play” — and that is 
the very time I don’t want to play. Aunt Rachel 
says, “Janet has spoiled you, child. I told her so.” 
And I tell her I am glad of it, and wish she would 
spoil me some more. 

Now, dear Mamatesa, don’t you pity me? You 
and Gracie away, way off, and Mamajay as good as 
gone this last two weeks. Will you scold because I 
have been cross to her ? Mamajay says if I had been 
as good as I know how to be, she would have kept on 
taking me with her, as she did at first, but that I 
talked too much for a little girl, and must be more 
quiet and polite. I am glad we never had any man 
to live here always. Why must little girls behave so 
good when men are around? 

Oh, there they come ! I hear the horses ! Why, 


THE LAMARK3. 


183 


Mamatesa, my letter has taken me all this time ! 
Good bye. Your dear, little 

Madeline. 


XC. • 

JEANNETTE TO THERESA, 

Jan, 20th, 

Your letters have just come. Many thanks. Mad- 
eline has sealed her letter, dearest Theresa, and says 
I can't see a word of it. I dare say it will amuse 
you. She is in high spirits about the achievement. 
She has been a very good child since you have been 
away, and I only realize now how entirely I have 
given myself up to her. So little housekeeping to do, 
so little company to entertain, we have spent the days 
together, gone to bed together. And now that Mr. 
Walsh is here she thinks she is terribly neglected be- 
cause I spend an hour or two with him, now and then, 
and occasionally drive out and leave her with Aunt. 
And as to putting her to bed alone, she thinks it 
the most cruel thing in the world. 

I am not surprised. You know the children did 
always have one or the other of us. But enough of 
this. I have more important things to write about. 
Gan you imagine it, or shall I tell you ? It is such a 
trite story that I almost wonder that it has so filled 
up my cup of thanksgiving. 

You know that I was engaged to be married when 
Father died. Of course my lover pressed his suit, 
but Mother needed me so much in those sorrowful 
days that I felt more content to wait until the cloud 


184 


THE LAMARKS. 


had passed away. The satin gown was finished — our 
second Father’s gift — the bridal veil was folded down 
upon it, the wreath was laid upon the veil, to wait the 
spring time. And Mother, and a many another kind 
friend had added this and that to the precious treas- 
ures my own hands had made, that I might be fitly 
arrayed to live among the kin of whom he told, where 
he so soon should take me as his bride. Oh, Theresa, 
there had been golden days — days of day-dreams — 
bright as the visions of Fairyland — of the shores where 
we should dwell and the happy hours we should spend 
together. If the holidays were sad, the spring-time 
was a thousand fold sadder. Mother was dead, and 
we two sat astonied with grief and the bitterness of 
utter desolation. I could only think of but two things 
— of John, and of the duties that lay before me now. 
‘‘I know you, Jeannette,” Mother had said in her 
last moments, know you will be faithful to these 
little ones. But, oh, my child, how can I bear to 
think of the bitterness of your disappointment, when 
your hopes have been so bright and your prospects so 
fair.” Never fear for me, darling Mother,” I said. 
‘‘ Brave heart,” my Mother said. “ God bless you, my 
own, beloved child. Trust in God. Love the Master 
— be true to Him, and unselfish as you have ever 
been.” Would that it had been God’s will that I 
should have borne this burden that falls on you, but 
He knows best. It is His will, and we must do it 
cheerfully. I come, my Father. Thou will be with 
these fatherless children — fatherless — motherless. 
Theresa, darling, precious one, God bless you and 
make each one of you a blessing to the other. Be- 


THE LAMAEKS. 


185 


member that He always hears your prayers. My 
little Grace, God bless you — and this tiny thing — my 
little baby. Perhaps God will let me take it with mo 
—but if it may not be, He will take care of it — 
through you, my faithful children.” We will be 
faithful, Mother, darling — darling Mother,” we both 
cried at once. Oh, Theresa! What a day that 
was. Did we not strive to lessen the sharp pangs she 
felt in leaving us ? And when I told her I should give 
my life to them — our little sisters — do you remember 
how she said : Oh, Jeannette, my child — my dear, 

good daughter, it is too much, you do not know what 
self-denial, what patience you will need — what a 
sorrow that will be to you and John, Surely you 
must think of him. I can not think of it. God will 
make it plain by and by. Pray and do your best. I 
leave you free to do just as you will. Do not promise, 
Jeannette. You and John must do as you think best. 
Go with him if you will. These little ones are yours 
and my Theresa’s. There — I know. Do not grieve. 
It is Heaven. You know those I love are there. You 
will come in a little while. Be as happy as you can. 
God’s will be done.” 

How slow the gasping words came — one by one! 
Oh, Theresa, dearest, how did we live ? If God had 
not just taken us in His arms and carried us along, 
we must have died ; but they laid her away, and we 
prayed and w^ent to our work. And John came and 
begged and pleaded, bidding me bring you all. ‘‘Ah, 
Janet, darling, I can not bide your time,” he cried. 
“When little Madeline is reared I shall be an old 
man. My darling, my bride, my bonny wife, you 


186 


THE LAMARKS. 


know not what you ask. I can not wait. Come, 
bring them all, and we will do our best.” ‘‘ But your 
mother and sisters at the Grange. So many — no — 
love does tempt, but it can not be.” ‘ ‘ Then, dwell you 
here, and I will come and go, and you shall be my 
wife, and rear your sisters as you will. “ Nay, John,” 
I said, “ I would be an unfaithful wife. By and by 
God will make it plain — we are yet young, and it 
may not be long.” ‘‘Janet, it is not fair to me. You 
love me not, or else you would yearn as I yearn ; 
love does not thus deny itself. The best years of my 
life I shall be bound to you, and God knows it may 
all be for naught.” “ Then you are free ! Go, John ! 
You will find another wife,” I cried, “ and I will do 
my work.” “I did not mean it,* Janet.” Oh, how 
many, many, many times he said it, “Dear, dear 
girl — my own — my beautiful — my bride. It was but 
my over-earnest pleading. I will be thine for weal 
or woe — till death — forever, evermore.” “God 
grant it, John. I shall never change, but it may be 
that you may love again, and I would not be in the 
way. You are free and I am free. There is no bond 
between us, unless it be such love as can not change. 
You must not come — you must not write, and thus, 
you may forget.” In vain he pleaded, and then 
nothing would do, the foolish lover that he was, but I 
must put my bridal raiment on and let him see me 
once. “Jeannette, my beautiful, you may be old, 
with all this freshness gone, when you shall wear it 
— should that ever be, and I must see you now, my 
bride, for me alone.” And so, you remember, dear 
Theresa, how you went with me and put it on — even 


THE LAMARKS. 


187 


to the veil and wreath, and how I never spoke a word, 
and when it all was done, you led me down to John, 
and ran away and hid. Oh, what burdens one can 
bear. I can not write more now. I am faint and 
blind as though it were passed through yesterday. 

Ever, in tenderest affection, your Sister, 

Janet. 


XCI. 

JEANNETTE TO THERESA. 

Jan. 22d. 

The day was past, dear Tesa, and when midnight 
came I still sat there with John. A hundred fare- 
wells had been said, and yet he stayed. There was 
no one to say, “It is too late, my child, come away.’’ 
In all the world there was no one but John for me to 
trust in and to lean upon. Each time I bade him go 
I clung to him, and when he said that he must go, he 
never stirred. But when the clock struck one, I 
stood up by the door and said, “Now dear, dear, 
John, I must be strong till this is done. Now you 
must go. Hours, days, weeks would not make it 
easier.” 

“Oh, Janet, darling, precious one, will you not 
take it back? Just say that I may come and go, and 
we will write, and so the weary waiting time will wear 
away.” “ Just once a year — the first day of the year 
— the day we were to have been married, you may 
come if you still love me best. Remember you are 
free — free, John, as though all this had never been.’’ 
“I hate it, dearest girl. This love makes me your 


188 


THE LAMAEKS. 


bondsman forever and forever, my own, my beauti- 
ful. On my knees I pray you take it back ! Oh, 
Janet, my darling, my bride, my wife, I pray you 
take it back ! Forgive me, and forget the words I 
said ! ” 

‘‘ You will kill me, John ! ” I cried. “ You forget 
the griefs that I have borne. Go, and God bless 
you ! ” “ How can you be so strong and stern ! ” he 

cried, and caught me in his arms, with an embrace 
that almost crushed me. “ One long, last kiss, my 
soul ! — how precious to me ! ” And he went out in 
the dark. I drew the bolt and fell upon the stairs. 

You know it all, Theresa. I was the little child 
and you the helpful woman for many days. You 
laid the things away — my satin robe, the tear-stained, 
rumpled veil, its beauty gone, like the freshness and 
beauty — out of my life. We cried together all 
the livelong night. And, oh, you helped me so, 
my darling! For with you I could not feel alone, 
though so bereft. It was well, Theresa, that there 
was good, stern work for us. 

Grace did us a world of good ; and how the help- 
less baby helped us bear up. You took your cross up 
cheerfully, and I did not want to make it heavier for 
you ; you were too young for such a load of care. 
So we prayed and did our best, as mother said, and 
God’s blessing came. 

But I will tire you out with this, perhaps. It is 
not all so fresh and deeply graven on your memory, 
or dear to you, as it has been to me. I must come 
back years later, as the world’s time has gone, but the 
thread is not broken in my mind. I shall take it up 


THE LAMARKS. 


189 


again, for you must know it all. I love to tell it, 
now I may, after hushing up all these thoughts and 
feelings so many, many years, way deep down in my 
inmost soul. 

Madeline is well, and looks so rosy and pretty with 
her constant exercise in the open air. Aunt Each el 
has not been well. Only a cold, which, at her age, 
produces aches and pains, that she likes to tell about. 
I never tire in listening, or never seem to, at least, 
for she has been so good and kind and devoted to us 
all, that I would not pain her by a word. She has 
never gotten over Mr. Lacy going away, and can not 
treat our new pastor as she should to this day, al- 
ways finding something to contrast with Mr. Lacy’s 
loveliness. 

Naples will be a grand place for you and Grace. 
Aunty and Uncle must be the very perfection of 
chaperones, and Mr. Windemer a treasure in his w^ay, 
so there are no hearts lost down there, running the 
risk that they will, of being carried all over the known 
world. I shall not complain of any thing, for now 
that Grace improves so rapidly, and I am in such a 
glare of sunlight, I am too grateful for tears. 

With love to all, afiectionately, your Sister 

Jeannette. 

P. S. — 'Our letters have passed so often on the way 
that I will not write again till I hear from you. 

J. L. 


190 


THE LAMARKS. 


XCII. 

THERESA TO JEANNETTE. 

Naples, January 
Dear, dear, dearest Janet: 

Your letters have come — two from you, with one 
from Madeline. So it is your old lover ! 

That same ^‘old John” — John Walsh! What a 
hero he has always been to my imagination ! He was 
so mature and handsome ten years ago ! I can not 
imagine him changed, yet ten years must have made 
a difference. I am more anxious than ever now, to 
know how it has all come about, and what is to be the 
end. You will marry him, of course; and what is to 
become of us? Oh, Janet, dear, I did not mean to 
say that ; we shall get along nicely ; Grace, Aunty 
and I surely can take care of Madeline. These two 
letters have brought all that dreadful time back so 
vividly. I can not believe so many years have passed 
away, save when I look at Grace. What a little, 
trusting child she was — and now, these last few weeks, 
particularly since she is getting well, she seems so 
self-reliant and so strong in spirit. I can not explain 
it, but I feel it every day that she has changed. 
There is some purpose in her heart. I half divine it, 
yet I do not know. She feels her womanhood, and is 
a help to me ; gentle and yielding, yet decided, with 
a growing will of her own. I have hoped that she 
might love again , but she gives no sign. That innocent 
transparency of character that made every word and 
action clearly expressive of the passing thought and 
feeling of a year ago, is gone — I fear, forever. TJn- 


THE LAMAKKS. 


191 


naturally cheerful and bright, and frank in manner, 
she has, at it were, locked up the chambers of her 
heart, and not even I can get a glimpse within. I 
let, her read your letters. I know you will think it 
right, still I almost repented it, for it was her first 
knowledge of our sufiering in that bitter time, and 
she wept grievously. “ Tesa, darling,” she cried, “ I 
never felt, or knew before how much you and dear 
Sister Janet have done for me. Poor, poor Janet, has 
she borne this great grief all these ten long years, till 
now ? ” “I thought I always loved her tenderly — 
dear, dear Sister, how brave she has been, and how 
good — but now my tenderness seems multiplied a 
thousand fold, I feel it all so keenly.” “ Cheer up, 
dear Grace,” I said, “ This is her harvest time ; we will 
know all ere long, and see how God has made it plain. 
Janet seems so happy now that we must needs be 
happy too.” ‘‘ Three cheers for John,” dear Janet. I 
have had faith in a woman’s love, but in a man’s ten 
years fidelity there is something beyond belief! Do 
tell us all about it quickly, Janet, and take our love 
and blessing on you both. 

Write what we shall do. Kemember, any sacrifice 
for you, will be welcome to us. We will come home 
the moment it will be safe for Grace to do so, if you 
will. Every thing goes well with us. Even Naples 
is eclipsed in our thoughts by these good tidings of 
your happiness. I will not tell Aunty till we have 
learned it all, and you consent to it. 

All send love. Thank my baby for her splendid 
letter. It would be just right but for one thing — she 
gave way to an impatient spirit — and I can never ap- 


192 


THE LAM ARKS. 


prove of that. To find fault with dear, good Sister 
Janet! I know she is sorry for it, long ago, and 
ashamed. 

Say, little one, are you not ashamed ? If you have 
not already done it, put your arms around dear Ma- 
majay’s neck, and tell her the truth. 

Farewell, fondly, 

Theresa. 


XCIII. 

JEANNETTE TO THERESA. 

Blueberry Hall, February 2d. 

Your first Naples letters have come. I am rejoiced 
at your happiness. If I do not seem to sympathize so 
much with your pleasures as in former days, dearest 
Theresa, you must forgive me. I am living my girl- 
ish days over again, and ‘‘ the heart's aye the parts 
aye!” Your letters are read and re-read with the 
greatest delight ; I enjoy them all the more because 
John reads them, too. 

Are you indeed ‘‘ impatient to know all about this 
romance that your last letter gave me such a keen ap- 
petite for?” You have had more of it ere this, for 
when I began my story it was pleasanter for me to 
tell it than for you to hear it I am sure, and to write 
it all out, just as the thoughts ran through my mind, 
telling you things of the past, that memory has held 
sacred all these long years, I might have blushed to 
have told you face to face, for you always make light 
of these touches of tenderness — but to write it all out 


THE LAMARKS. 


193 


has been so sweet to me that I do not care a bit if you 
do think me somewhat absurd in this new character. 

Let me see, where did I leave off? Oh, yes, where 
I was left so lonely. 

Do you remember when the year went by ? I had 
not told you I had said that he might come on the 
New Year’s day, but when I said that I should sit the 
old year out, you said you would surely sit there too. 
Some young friends had just gone, and you wished I 
had spoken sooner, that they, too, might have stayed. 
I smiled to think how little you knew of the thoughts 
of my heart, and we talked of the old year’s going — 
sadly, to be sure, and yet I had my hope — a little, 
meek hope in the darkest corner of my heart — but it 
cheered me. When the clock struck one, so loudly, 
and sharp raps followed it quickly on the great door, 
how we both sprang to our feet, and while I opened 
the door, you trembled on the stairs and begged me 
not to venture — but I knew that it was John ! And, 
Tesa, how you ran away when you heard him say — 

My Darling,” and how I tried to be so very stiff and 
proper, lest he should think my love a bond to bind 
him to me ; and so, when we had talked a little while, 
I said I must go to you — and yet I would not let him 
go out in the night, as he seemed first to think I 
meant, but begged him to stay and sleep in the little 
blue room, on the easy cot. I should talk to him if 
it pleased him, all the live-long day, when morning 
came. 

Ah, Tesa, that was a bright day ! Have you for- 
gotten how he made much of Grace, and how sweet 
13 


194 


THE LAMAEKS. 


she was, and how you brought Madeline to him ? 
“Just see.” “What a tiny thing it is. Your work 
has just begun. How long it seems — this year — a 
whole year, and she a wee, wee baby yet. Ah, J anet, 
the way do ’nt clear a bit,” he said. “When, think 
you, there will be some hope ? ” I could not see ; it 
all seemed very dark. And when the midnight came 
again, he went his way. 

Another year went by, and we. two sat alone to 
watch its going. You were too kind to jest, though 
you had said how you would fly if that quick rap 
should come ; but it did not come, dear Tesa — one, 
two, struck, and you said, “ Come, dear, it is too late 
to stay,” and I said quickly, “Yes; why have we sat 
so late ? ” I hoped and feared, feigning to sleep — and 
went about my morning tasks, when Grace came run- 
ning, breathless, “He has come — is on the porch — 
our New Year’s friend ! ” and surely, John was there ! 
Oh, Tesa ! I was so glad and happy all that day — 
though he did come late ; and he seemed pleased with 
little Madeline when she said, “ Don,” as he told her 
to. And then she said, “ dear Mamajay,” and ran and 
hid her face deep in my lap. I thought it worth a 
whole year’s waiting to have such joy one day ! 

But, next year, he came later still — the sun had set 
—we all were there upon the porch. I saw him first, 
come slowly up the road, and put Grace off my lap, 
and went into the darkest chamber to still my heart, it 
beat so loud I thought you all must hear it. 

Grace came and told the news — that he had come ! 
I came calmly dowm and took his offered hand and 
laughed and said, “ Why, John, I thought you had 


THE LAMARKS. 


195 


forgotten me.” ^‘You see you were quite wrong, 
dear Janet, here I am.” We talked and jested in a 
friendly way, and in a little while you said, ‘‘ Come, 
Aunty, you must see Grace to bed, and I will bring 
my baby.” He bade the little folk good night and 
praised them afterward, and asked me were they old 
enough to do without me yet. Tesa, did you ever hear 
me speak of him again, till now ? I know I did not, 
and yet, with all the thoughts of him forever upper- 
most within my mind, through all those years, I 
scarcely can believe no word of him ere passed my 
lips, even to you. The more he talked, the more I 
wished midnight would never come, for I knew hence- 
forth our lives would be apart. I can not tell you 
any thing he said, but this — over and over, “My 
darling, will you be mine now — within this coming 
year?” I said, “I can not, John. I can not leave 
them yet.” And then he told me of a fair, young 
girl, who, next to me, was very near to him, and how 
she seemed to love him, though he never meant she 
should, and how ho had been cold to her — colder than 
he felt — telling her many times of me, and of our 
plighted love — waiting in hopes that I this day would 
listen to his suit, and be his own at last. “ Take her, 
John,” I said, “ if she will make you happy, and you 
love her as you should love one you would make your 
wife. I should be glad of any thing that will make 
you happier.” “ Janet, you are so strange. My best 
beloved, are you sure ? ” “If you love her, certainly. 
You must think me very selfish, not to want you my- 
self and yet to be unwilling that another should have 
you. That would be ‘ dog in the manger,’ John,” I 


196 


THE LAMARKS. 


added lightly. ‘‘Is that true, Janet? You do not 
seem to care, and yet I thought you loved me.” “ So 
I did, John, but you know time changes things; you 
will acknowledge this, for you yourself are changed. 
So take your bride, and I will do my work.” He 
seemed so deeply moved, so loth to go, you can not ^ 
blame me if I were yet more so to have him, for I 
felt that he was lost to me forever, and all the while I 
was so calm and cheerful that he said he thought that 
he had known me — once thought me of deep feeling 
and true of heart, and he had trusted in telling me 
this, that I would consent to pledge myself at least 
for some near time, but now it seemed that time 
indeed had changed me, if I were changed. Why 
linger on it, Tesa, dear. He went his way, and when 
the next New Year had come and gone, I knew that 
he was mine no longer ; but I had my memories, they 
could not be taken from my heart. We lived on — 
the children grew, and all went very well. There 
Avere some that loved me — some I might have loved, 
but my heart was all filled up — there was no room, so 
they all went their ways and I kept on trying to bear 
up cheerfully, learning the Master’s lesson, and put- 
ting into practice Titcomb’s good words, “ Ease is not 
for you ; selfish enjoyment is not for you — the world 
is to be made better by you. You have got to suffer 
and to work if there be a spark of true woman in 
you.” Easier for a wife, I thought, for whose instruc- 
tion it was given, but good for any woman. 

Have I written too much ? I am not tired, but you 
may be. Ah ! there comes Madeline with letters — 
yes, from Grace, at last! 


THE LAMAEKS. 


197 


God bless you all. I see that all k well. I will 
write again when I have read it all. 

Ever, in love, your Sister, 

Janet. 


XCIV. 

GRACE TO JEANNETTE. 

Naples, Feh. 5tL 

I thought I would wait to hear all the story of your 
love, dear, darling, precious Sister ; but I can’t do it, 
these first dear letters have so touched my heart. 
What a child I am ! How self-indulgent I have been 
all these years, while you have borne so much, so 
bravely. This knowledge has done me good. Now 
I will shoulder a little of the burden, at least. We 
will hasten home. Tesa will take your place, I will 
take hers, and you shall be a beautiful bride at last! 
It will be lovely, dear, good Sister, after your long 
waiting. 

And poor Mr. Walsh ! He has had a hard time, 
too. How could you be unselfish and so brave and 
stern in refusing him so many times ? Ah, it was for 
us ! How can we ever thank you as we should ? He 
knew how good and lovely you were, dear Sister. It 
was almost cruel to tell him he must go and never 
come near you but that poor once a year ! I never 
could have done it. How could you ? Why did 
you ? Was there no other way ? How we long to 
^know it all! Do tell us quickly! We will come 
home at any moment. I think I am well enough 
even now. 


198 


THE LAMARKS. 


If you were only here for a good, long chat, we 
would soon fix it all up. I want to fly right straight 
to your arms, and tell you how glad I am, and let you 
go quickly, for fear something might yet keep you 
from him ! 

I have grown readily into the spirit of this wonder- 
ful place. I could ride for days and days and days 
and never weary of its strange streets ! Oh, Sister, 
if you were only here ! You canh think how queer 
they are. The hills on which the city lies are sort of 
moon -shaped — like two crescents pressed together at 
the ends, forming a ridge. It is like an ampitheatre 
rising from the bay. The streets run lengthwise and 
crosswise. The broadest seem narrower than they 
are, for the houses are very high, sometimes seven 
stories, and then often have projecting balconies ! On 
the narrow streets these almost meet overhead ; and 
only mules can travel the narrowest streets, without 
even a sidewalk. Indeed, some of the streets are just 
steps up and down, where the people come and go. 
Every body seems to live out of doors — women 
sometimes washing and dressing and combing their 
children right on the thoroughfares ! The tops of the 
houses are generally flat, and are often covered with 
flowers. And here women who are too poor to ride 
and too proud to walk, exercise, enjoy the fresh air, 
and entertain their friends. 

It is often pitiful to see the contrast between the 
rich and the poor. Some are so very, very rich, and 
live so magnificently, and the poorest are so misera- 
bly poor ; and yet it does not matter much. The cli- 
mate is so delightful that the poor scarcely need either 


THE LAMARKS. 


199 


clothes or houses, and for three pennies a day can buy 
maccaroui enough — well, not too keep fat on — but 
enough for health. And the poor wretches seem to 
revel in the dirt, and are very filthy. They are not 
allowed even to enter the public garden, called the 
“ Villa Reale,” where the rich go to enjoy the foun- 
tains, shrubbery, statues, etc. , but once a year. Other 
places of amusement are, however, provided for them. 
I always carry a supply of copper coin to throw to 
them. They are satisfied with the smallest mite. 
Uncle Jean calls me Lady Almoner.” 

I have spent a great deal of time with Mr. Winde- 
mer in the art galleries. He has inspired me with 
such a love of art that I sometimes think I will vex 
the canvas with some of my devices when I get home. 
Tesa’s talent for drawing has developed wonderfully ; 
but she says her taste has so outgrown her skill that 
she never wants to draw any more, except for Mad- 
eline. 

Good night, dear, precious Sister. Kiss Aunt and 
Madeline for your loving 

Grace. 


XCV. 

JEANNETTE TO GRACE. 

Blueberry, I eh. 1 th, 18 — . 

Your letter has given me the greatest happiness, 
my darling Grace. The first letter you have written 
me since your illness. They say you are going to be 
well and strong, and I find myself looking forward, 
with daily increasing delight, to seeing you fresh and 


200 


THE LAMAKKS. 


actually rosy when the spring-time comes, though I 
know it is not wise thus to draw upon the future for 
happiness. 

What a lovely time you are having in beautiful 
Italy. I could not be selfish and wish you at home, 
though I do so long to see you. 

You must not think me sad or lonely here. It 
is cold and damp with heavy rains of late, but when 
the heart is aglow with happiness, one never thinks 
whether the sun shines or no. I am living in a clime 
fairer and sunnier than that of Italy. Tell dear 
Theresa to tell you all about it, darling. You are old 
enough to share our joys and sorrows now. We will 
have no secrets from you, and you must have none 
from us. I trust you may some time feel the joys 
that I feel now. May they never have the unwonted 
intensity of mine, made keen by long suffering ! 

Your friends are well. Write when you can with- 
out feeling it a tax, and believe me, dearest child, 
yours, ever with the same unchanging devotion, 

Janet. 


XCVI. 

JEANNETTE TO THERESA. 

Blueberry, Feh. 9fh. 

I can not help smiling whenever I think of your 
impatience, dearest Theresa. Yes, surely, it is that 
same old John ! I can not imagine how it could be 
any other John, or any body else. This is my weak- 
ness, and I have a right to it after my long self- 
denial. I am indulging myself to the full. I mean 


THE LAMARKS. 


201 


to think and write it all to you, even to my thoughts. 
I can not tell you when or what the end will be. 
Who knows ? I am happy enough, and so is John. 
I will tell you what I can. 

T wo years ago you had gone out to drive, for Mrs. 
Kinsington had asked you there that day, and passed 
a stranger near the chapel path. You did not know 
him, but he knew you and Grace and Madeline, reck- 
oning the years that had gone by. He hurried up 
the roadway, and when the servant said, “ A stranger 
in the hall would speak with Miss Lamark,” she was 
too faint to move. Theresa, I always had that hope, 
and would not have gone away with you that New- 
Year’s day had the Queen herself invited me. My 
New-Years’ days I always gave to John. Though he 
were wed my thoughts could do no harm. Four New- 
Years’ days had come and gone, with their long trains 
of near four hundred days and nights, with never a 
ray of hope, but naught could rob me of my mem- 
ories. 

I wanted, too, to wear my dress that day - my 
bridal-dress. I had not had the heart to look at it 
since that last fatal night ; but I was stronger now, 
and I had shed some fresh tear-drops upon the faded 
flowers, had pressed the yellow veil close to my heart 
— the stains w^ere dear, so dear, so dear to me, John’s 
tears had made the worst — had shaken out the dress 
soon after you had gone, and turned the key, and 
just gone down to see if Aunt was busy at her work, 
and sure not to come up, when I heard the heavy 
knocker, and J ulia came to me. I bade her say that 
I would come. Then I rebuked my folly. Sure 


202 


THE LAMARKS. 


many another man might want to speak with Miss 
Lam ark. 

Calmed in a moment, I approached a rather portly 
man, with a dark, heavy beard. I wondered who it 
was! “Am 1 so changed?” he said. And I had 
time to falter, “ Mr. Walsh ! ” He tried to be at 
ease, but it was sorry work. I did not help him — not 
a jot — but talked about the weather, this and that, 
until he said, “May I tell you of my life these four 
years past?” “ If you please, of course.” And then 
he told me of his wife — her love and loveliness — 
praising her in such a tender way that I rejoiced to 
hear it, though it did hurt me. But, Tesa, darling, 
I feared that he had found my secret out when first 
he said she was, was! Some undefined thought 
seemed to dart back and forth from brain to heart, 
until I was choked and dizzy. 

I saw that he looked keenly at me, but I had not 
been schooled in vain. I gave no outward sign of the 
tumult within. How can one be so still when the 
very soul is in a tremor ! And then he told me how 
she died “a year ago and left two little babes — a 
little daughter two years old, a baby boy who nestled 
in her bosom but an hour before she died.” He 
seemed very, very sorrowful. 

“Oh, that was dreadful! So very, very sad!” I 
said, but did not try to comfort him, and was so cold 
and distant that I thought he could but hate me, and 
yet my heart was tender with the thought of him, his 
dear young wife, the little babes, of darling mother, 
little Madeline, and all the sorrow of eight years ago. 
He did not talk much more, only to tell they often 


THE LAMAEKS. 


203 


talked of me. Eose had so much wished that she 
had known me. 

At last he went away, asking if he might come 
again. I did not quite deny, nor yet consent — pro- 
vided only that he should not come at all, saving a 
New-Year’s call another year. He was both hurt and 
angry. But he did come next year, and you never 
knew it, for I was very clever, and made a pleasant 
plan for you abroad, and sent you all away — Aunt 
Eachel, too — do you remember ? I was kind to him 
that day, but dignified enough. I listened to his 
words of love, but did not tell my own ; but I made 
up my mind if he should come again this year, and 
plead as fervently, to tell him all the truth, and so I 
let him go. 

Now, are you satisfied? There is little more to 
tell. Yet I must wait, for Madeline is tired of her- 
self and we will take a walk. 

Let dear Grace read the letters. One can not bear 
the thought of any but the nearest and the dearest 
knowing these heart treasures. 

With a tender embrace for you both, your Sister, 

Janet. 


XCVII. 

THERESA TO JEANNETTE. 

Naples, February ISth. 

Oh, dearest Janet, I knew he could not be worthy 
of you. To think of his marrying ; and after all, you 
have taken him back ! He might have waited for 
you. Just like a man — all the sacrifices must be on 


204 


THE LAMARKS. 


a woman’s side. Dear Janet, I don’t believe he loves 
you as he should. Tell him he do n’t deserve you — 
that I never shall like him — and yet, I will not be too 
hard — there may be some defense. It is quite true 
you never spoke of him again, and I sometimes 
thought you had quite forgotten him. Do you re- 
member how I regretted your refusing Col. Barring- 
ton — such an elegant man, and so entirely devoted 
to you. I did not understand it then. When he said 
that he would wait till Grace became a wedded wife, I 
thought you might have given him some little hope 
at least. I see it now, it is just like you — so decided 
and conscientious in these things. I wonder you can 
believe in men as you do, and be so fearful of hurting 
their poor, dear hearts ! I think it takes something 
heavier than a woman’s frown to break, or even bruise 
them ; they enjoy smiles, and pleasant talk, and kind 
attentions, wonderfully well, and a little morsel of love 
to give a real zest to social intercourse, and I like to 
make them as happy as I can, if they do not get too 
serious. One does not often encounter the real devo- 
tion of love as the world goes. I think I can detect 
its first manifestations, especially in men that are ca- 
pable of feeling deeply. Not for an earldom would I 
give such a one pain ; if ever I have, it has not only 
been to test it, but to test myself, and I will give my- 
self, my whole heart and life freely, entirely, devot- 
edly, when such a one claims it ; healing all earlier 
wounds with the tenderest art, natural to a warm- 
hearted, impulsive woman. This is no confession, but I 
do believe there are such men, and if I ever have any- 
body, it must be such a one. These men that come 


THE LAMARRS. 


205 


and go, fluttering around women in the world, are 
pleasant enough — delightful oftentimes, 'pour passe le 
temps; they are often wise and good, too, but they are, 
for, the most part, self-glorifying and self-sufficient 
“lovers of themselves.” I would rather have ten 
years like yours past, than run the risk of ten years 
of married life with almost any man I ever saw or 
heard of — not excepting your John. 

AVell, dear Janet, I might as well be in Blueberry 
to-day — nay, not as well — for what a glorious talk we 
might have had, had I been there the while I have 
been writing. Here are all the sounds and sights of 
Naples around me, and you none the wiser. I never 
imagined it such a city as it is, with 500,000 inhab- 
itants stirring and full of life, and crowds of strangers 
coming and going daily; 300 churches, each one a 
curiosity, in its way — St. Martino, magnificent beyond 
expression, sculptures, mosaics, frescoes, variegated 
marbles and fine paintings, adorn it lavishly ; the 
grand Duomo, with its clustering, interesting chapels 
and tombs, where one can spend days, full of interest. 
The Basilica of Santa Eestituta is very ancient, sup- 
posed to occupy the site of the old Temple of Apollo ; 
the Chapel of San Gennaro, in the right aisle, was 
twenty-five years in building, and was said to have cost 
five hundred thousand ducats — the gates alone cost 
forty-five years of labor, and thirty thousand ducats ; 
and so on. Every church has its peculiar attractions. 
In that of “ Santa Maria della Pietra de Sangri,” is an 
exquisitely beautiful figure of the veiled Christ. I 
should weary myself and you, trying to tell even a 
tithe — there is too much. The very ground is novel 


206 


THE LAMARKS. 


and interesting to us— so different from the soil of 
England. The grand volcano seems to impress every 
thing with itself, from the clouds in the transparent 
sky to the lava blocks with which the roadways are 
paved. All day long the dark clouds of smoke and 
vapor hang over it, in striking contrast with the sur- 
rounding purity and brightness; and at night, its 
wonderful flames and glowing coal-bright lava streams 
throw a glow over every thing — to my imagination at 
least. The streets are wider and straighter and better 
built than I had imagined, although of course not to 
be compared with the magnificent Boulevards of Paris. 
The Bay is altogether lovely — an exquisite gem in the 
perfect setting of these verdant shores. The lava is 
every-where ; one can but wonder how people dare to 
live over such a fiery abyss as must underlie all this 
region. Way up, even on the very sides of the great 
volcano, they live, and cultivate their olive groves 
and vineyards. I hope it may not be the false security 
that Herculaneum and Pompeii felt. We go to visit 
the excavations of those cities within a few days — 
the first of our excursions. We hope, by and by, to 
make the ascent of Vesuvius — every body does. We 
will put that off to the very last, then Grace will enjoy 
it all the more. Farewell. All send love to all. 

Fondly, 

Theresa. 


THE LAMARKS. 


207 


XCVIII. 

VIOLET TO THERESA. 

February dth. 

My precious Theresa: 

I wonder where you are, that I have not heard from 
you. I have written to you to Naples as you told me. 
I don’t want to worry you, but when any thing hap- 
pens that vexes me, I want to run right to my pen, to 
tell you. I think of you every day, and it does me 
good to write to you, so I may, may I not? We are 
still having a fine time. Lady Edgerton does not pay 
much attention to us, and sometimes I think she knows 
all about our wild pranks. They went to the exhibi- 
tion yesterday at 12 — Sir Henry, Lady Edgerton and 
the young ladies— and they were no sooner gone than 
Madge ordered a carriage and we went to drive in the 
opposite direction. A few squares off, two of our 
young friends saluted us, and Madge invited them to 
ride. We had a lovely time, the great park was 
almost like a country drive, and I felt so full of fun 
and life that I was almost as gay as Madge, though of 
course, more reserved, as she has known the young 
men all her life. Indeed, young Dunning seems quite 
devoted to her, and they exchanged rings yesterday. 
We had been so well entertained that we entirely 
forgot ourselves, and after bidding our friends adieu, 
on Regent street, we drove home through the most 
frightful crowd of people, to find Sir Henry’s carriage 
at the door, and the ladies all standing on the ve- 
randa. I blushed, I know, for I always do feel a little 


208 


THE LAMARKS. 


guilty, but Madge ran up and kissed her mother, and 
said, ‘‘We have been out for a little fresh air. 
Ben has taken good care of us, and Violet must see 
a little of London, you know.” “Quite right, my 

child,” Lady E said, “Young folks must have 

their fun. Violet is such a little woman, she will 
keep out of all mischief.” Madge says that Adelaide is 
engaged to Lord Chanton, and they are in high spirits 
about it. The wedding will not take place till next 
season. “ High ! ” Madge cries, “ if Eleanor was only 
as well off, then we would have a grand time. Never 
mind, Vi ! I shall not soon forget you and the good turn 
you have done me. You see I could not go out quite 
alone. Have if t we had a jolly time any way ? Next 
year, after Adelaide is married, if you can persuade 
Mr. Pink to take Eleanor, you shall come and live 
with me, and mamma will be devoted to us ; there will 
be no stone left unturned until both of us make first- 
class matches. Indeed, it 's your duty, Vi ; you see 
we are sort of cousins to Mr. Pink, and if he had not 
taken such a fancy to you, we should have had most 
of the money after a while, any way, but now, 
mamma is afraid he will give you so much as to quite 
spoil our share, as you know it has to be divided into 
so many parts ! Did you ever know any thing to be 
so mixed up ? ” 

I asked her how they were going to get rid of Aunty 
Genau. “ Oh, she has enough of her own ; and as to 
her son — ” “ Her son ! ” I said, “ Why, she has no 
son! ” “Indeed she has,” Madge replied, “a splen- 
did, high-spirited young fellow, I have often heard 
mamma tell about him ; his Uncle Pinkerton offered 


THE LAMARKS. 


209 


to make him his heir if he would give up his fondness 
for the sea, and live with him, but the foolish fellow 
would not listen to reason, but ran off to sea. Four 
years ago the Bride of the Ocean went down off 
the Cape of Good Hope, and Jasper Genau has never 
been heard of since. They all think he is dead, but I 
am looking to the time w^hen he will come back, with 
some great romance, and then he must fall in love 
with me, and the Pink, Edgerton, Genau match will 
form an irresistible combination, that will absorb the 
whole estate as big as the mines can make it ! ” And 
so she runs on in the wildest way. I never know 
whether she really means what she says, or no. 

Dear Theresa, if I only had you here. These 
people are so queer. I do love Madge ; she is a splen- 
did girl, but still she does not help me as you did. I 
feel sort of conscience-stricken all the time. I am 
afraid she will do some dreadful thing some time, and 
get us both into trouble. Is it right for me to enjoy 
her* wild pranks so much? I know Aunt Lisle 'would 
be horrified ; but she is queer, too, and thinks of 
nothing but what people might say. Aunt Genau, 
I don’t dare to think of. She said, when I bade her 
good bye, Remember one thing, dear girl, do not do 
any thing clandestinely ; have a gay, happy time, but 
let it all be free and fair with those who are not 
ashamed to let all their thoughts and actions be known. 
Mistrust any body who demands secrecy of you, par- 
ticularly in your intercourse with young men ; be re- 
served and mistrust even the best among them.” This 
last I have done, there is not one of all Madge’s 


210 


THE LAMARKS. 


young friends I do not mistrust ; but this girlish fun 
I have had with Madge — she could not have meant 
that ! Yet I do wish Madge was not quite so wild. 
I will make you tired of my folly. I will not write 
again until I hear from you. 

My dearest love to Grace, and a .kiss to yourself, 
From your devoted, 

Violet. 


XCXIX. 

VIOLET TO THERESA. 

London, February 7th, 

I have not heard from you, but I must tell you 
something, my precious Theresa, to satisfy myself. 
Madge told me the queerest thing last night. She 
said that Lady Chanton had sent an especial card to 
us for her reception, a few nights ago, with a note to 
Lady Edgerton, asking her to bring me with her, but 
that her mother had declined for me, and ‘‘I’ll tell 
you what, Viola,” Madge said, “It is all because 
Adelaide wants young Lord Chanton all to herself, 
and mamma is afraid of your good looks ; freshness 
in London is the great thing. Mrs. Bingal says two 
seasons wear out a fashionable girl, and the young 
fellows all go crazy after a pair of rosy cheeks!” 
“Now, Madge, tell me one thing,” I said, “for you 
seem to know all about these things.” “ What made 
your mamma ask me to stay here after Mr. Pinkerton 
went home?” “Because she wanted him to come 
back — he would be such a fine match for our Elea- 
nor! Little simpleton, don’t you see?” “No, I 


THE LAMARKS. 


211 


do n’t see,” I cried. Such an old man as Mr. Pink- 
erton — that is nonsense.” ‘‘Ah, but you guileless 
child, he is so very, very rich, and it is so much the 
better that he is old — he will leave it to her the sooner, 
you know. ” I do n’t believe a word of all this, be- 
cause Madge is so reckless, she just says any thing 
that comes into her head. What do you think of it? 
It may be they are a little like Aunt Lisle — trying to 
manage things. But I hope she will not try to man- 
age me into any new trouble. I think I have had my 
share, I am glad “Mr. Pink,” as Madge calls him, 
do n’t know about all this, for he would 'surely take 
me home, and we are having such a good time, “on 
the sly,” that I am not ready to give it up. I wish I 
could tell you some of the things we have done since 
1 wrote you before. 

Yours, ever loving, 

Violet. 


C. 

THERESA TO VIOLET. 

February 14th, 

Your first and second letters have just reached me, 
my dear Violet ; how sorry I am they have been so 
long on the way ! 1 do not know much about London 

life, but I can not help feeling that your position is a 
very unsafe one. Do not trust Madge Edgerton. 1 
certainly do feel that Mr. Pinkerton had much bettei 
have taken you home, and that he ought now to know 
every thing you have written to me ; and yet, it 
would scarcely do to tell him, as he would lose confi- 
dence in old friends that he seems fully to trust, on 


212 


THE LAMARKS. 


the mere chit-chat of a mad-cap like Madge. Do use 
all your prudence. Do not go wherever you are led. 
Try to be as much with Lady Edgerton as her engage- 
ments will permit. You can restrain Madge when 
you think she is doing wrong, and it is your duty to 
do it, and even to rebuke her friends, if necessary. 
Her associates must, of course be proper — Lady Ed- 
gerton would not permit any others to frequent the 
house. Do write to me, every day, if you choose — 
certainly not less than once a week, and to Mr. Pink- 
erton and Mrs. Genau, often and freely. I can but 
feel anxious for you. We are about to start upon our 
excursion to neighboring points of interest — Pompeii, 
Herculaneum, and elsewhere. I wish you were here. 
Aunt and Uncle Berenger are so charming, every 
thing is lovely, nature so grandly beautiful. My 
Violet would bloom so naturally and sweetly here. I 
fear that close, London atmosphere, for you, dear girl. 
Do not be spoiled and carried away by fashionable 
follies and flattery ; you must, ere long, weary of 
it, but you may lose your freshness and purity in 
gaining your experience. What a price that would 
be ! Do not disappoint those who love and trust you. 
It would be ungrateful — nay, cruel. Follow your best 
impulses — they come to you from above. Kemember 
— ‘‘Thou God seest me.” Pray to Him and trust 
Him, and you will be safe at all times and in all 
places. Remember, too, little one, that your father 
and mother are near you ! God’s ministering angels, 
appointed, perhaps, by Him, to watch over you. Be 
good and happy in this sweet thought. 

Ever, your friend, 

Theresa Lamark. 


THE LAMARKS. 


213 


Cl. 

GRACE TO JEANNETTE. 

Hotel Diomede, Fd ), 11 th . 

Dearest Sister : 

We usually breakfast about 10 o’clock! This morn- 
ing we were up, had breakfast, and were at the station 
at 9 o’clock. There, the rest of our party joined us 
for a visit to Pompeii. We just filled a car, and our 
ride was delightful, all along the borders of the beau- 
tiful bay. The soft haze over Capri, and the other 
islands, the picturesque boats on the clear, beautiful 
waters which reflected the cloudless azure canopy 
above, made a vast, wonderfully beautiful picture ! 
We reached Pompeii at ten ; went first up lovely, 
winding pathways to the ‘‘Guide’s gate,” where we 
divided our party — each set taking a guide. We then 
went up through the old gate, from the sea, to Pom- 
peii, and there had our first view of the ruins. It 
almost seemed as if it must be inhabited. It was 
marvelous to see it in its present state, and then 
think back through eighteen centuries I Then it was 
the magnificent city, thronged and teeming with 
human life — active in a thousand pursuits — thinking, 
talking, acting, suffering and enjoying, when that 
dismal, suffocating shower came down, and made it 
all as it is now, in a few brief hours I 

Oh, Janet, how one feels it, on the spot ! All these 
centuries buried away, and now revealed so wonder- 
fully preserved I When walking through the little 
streets, in and around the strangely interesting houses, 


214 


THE LAMARRS. 


I could fancy the inhabitants going in and out— the 
happy Glaucus with the fair lone, Sallust with his 
wine and friends, Kydia, the poor lonely blind girl^ 
feeling her way along — so on, all seemed right before 
me, and it was intensely interesting. We went to 
the Basilica, the Temple of Jupiter, the temple of the 
Faun, all through, up and down the different streets. 

Oh, dearest Sister, I wish you could have enjoyed 
it with us ! We have procured lodgings at the Hotd 
Diomede, and will, if the weather continues favora- 
ble, remain here some days. There is a wonderful fas- 
cination in thus delving back into antiquity. We 
shall soon see Herculaneum. Its magnificent amphi- 
theatre is said to be well preserved — to be large 
enough to hold 10,000 people, and more ancient than 
the Roman Coliseum. 

1 never thought I should so enjoy these foreign 
scenes. How kindly it has been all ordered for me ! 
My capacity to enjoy seems to enlarge from day to 
day, and I am learning constantly. I never should 
have known what store of active, positive happiness 
life has for us in my quiet, contented life at home. 
It is easier to live above the world there. One might 
get to love its beauties too much here. But God is 
every- where; and when we have once learned to love 
Him truly, all this beauty and grandeur of nature. 
His own work, ought to help us to love Him more 
and serve Him better, like the blue ribbon in the 
fringe of the Hebrew robe, which was to remind the 
wearer every time the eye looked upon it, to remem- 
ber the commandments of the Lord, io do them. 


THE LAMARKS. 


215 


Sister Janet, do you ever hear from Mr. Lacy? I 
should be so glad to know how and where he is. All 
my old thoughts and feelings seem to be far away 
— left behind me at home — and yet I can never for- 
get the friends of the past. 

My dearest love to every body who loves me. TelJ 
Madeline I am bringing many things for our cabinet. 

Devotedly, your 

Grace. 

CII. 

THERESA TO JEANNETTE. 

Hotel Diomede, Feh. 18. 

Dear Janet, I will confess that my heart is a little 
touched with that story of two years ago, and yet I 
am vexed to think that he has come for you to take 
care of his two babies ! I would not take him now 
with all this care. He might have waited for you, 
and would if he had loved you as he should. I won- 
der you did not take him on the spot, in the goodness 
of your heart, without this wholesome training of a 
year or two. I like that part of it^ but I should have 
indignantly refused him on the spot, and that forever, 
letting consequences take care of themselves. But I 
have vented my rage more than enough already. I 
should have made myself supremely miserable, doubt- 
less. 

It may be your way is best. You are satisfied, and 
I have no right not to be. May be I shall like him 
when I come to know him better. At all events, 
when a woman marries she ‘‘marries primarily for 


216 


THE LAMARKS. 


herself!” And one thing is sure, knowing you as I 
do, I know that the man you love, and have loved so 
long, must be worthy of a true, great-hearted wo- 
man’s love. You are too wise to make a mistake in 
such a vital matter. The man you love must be a noble- 
hearted, cultivated, high-toned gentleman ; there- 
fore, I respect and will love him for your sake, although 
this intervening wedlock is sorely against our fond 
faith in a love that can not change. 

Finish your story, I beg of you. I am impatient 
to know the end and what your wishes are. We will 
come home. You shall have your John and the little 
helpless babes. What a step-mother you will make ! 
All these ten years of training, were they needful to 
fit you for this ? 

I am writing at the Hotel Diomede — our mid-day 
rest. Grace has already written you of Pompeii. 
Uncle Jean never wearies. We see so much that 
travelers rarely enjoy. This morning we saw a 
papyrus, just taken from Herculaneum. It was so 
frail — almost ashes. You know how they were made 
— strips of the plant were taken and stretched on a 
table, then rubbed with Nile water, which made them 
gummy, and caused their edges to adhere. When 
this was finished other strips were put upon them at 
right angles. These sheets were pressed and dried, 
and then rolled upon small rollers ornamented at 
each end, forming a substantial paper that was an 
article of Egyptian commerce, being carried all over 
the Mediterranean before and after the Christian era. 
More than 2,000 of these rolls have been found in 
the ruins of Herculaneum and Pompeii. They have 


THE LAMARKS. 


217 


excited great interest in the hope of finding some- 
thing very valuable, but as yet they have but poorly 
repaid the great labor and expense the work has 
cost. England has done more in this department of 
research than Italy itself. 

When rolls are found it is impossible to tell any- 
thing of their contents, of course. It requires rare 
patience and skill to handle them — a breath almost 
destroys them. A chemical process is first used. 
— many have been so injured in a vain attempt to 
open them as to ruin them — then the unrolling be- 
gins. If successful the writing is at once transferred 
to paper and then deciphered ; but all this work and 
cost may have been bestowed upon some utterly worth- 
less manuscript, which discourages further labor. I 
could not patiently watch the work one hour — it made 
me nervous. I thought every touch would annihilate 
it. How wonderful to think those men were hand- 
ling the very thoughts of minds that had passed from 
earth thousands of years ! Existing only on this frail 
papyrus, which a touch might blot out in an instant 
and bring to utter nothingness. 

We have some little mementos. It is very 
difficult to get any thing of value. There are 
officials watching every movement during excava- 
tions. Every thing is at once taken possession 
of by the government and placed in the Mu- 
seo Borbonico, in Naples. You can not realize 
how perfectly every thing is preserved. The light 
ashes and cinders that are supposed to have buried 
the cities, just fell lightly into every opening and 
crevice, until finally, its great thickness, with coatings 


218 


THE LAMARKS. 


of lava, shut out the air and moisture — sealed it all 
up hermetically for us nineteenth-century people. 

More than a century ago, excavations were begun, 
and they have gone on from time to time, as the pat- 
ronage of kings furnished the requisite means. About 
one-fourth of Pompeii has been exhumed. 

The very rouge of the women may be seen at the 
museum, and a thousand things, showing the corrupt 
state of society and the folly and wickedness of woman- 
kind. 

The roofs of the houses were doubtless destroyed 
when the scoria fell, but every thing that made up 
the daily life of the occupants, may be seen in the 
lower apartments of their homes. Beautiful paintings 
are perfectly preserved on the walls, but on being ex- 
posed to the air, lose their brilliancy of color. Mo- 
saics, bronzes, marbles, pictures, jewels and coins have 
been found. The museum collection is wonderfully 
interesting — an epitome, as it were, of life 1800 
years ago. 

Herculaneum is less interesting than Pompeii ; most 
of the excavations are mine-like, it was buried too 
deep to remove such a vast amount of material as 
covered it, and the people seem to have had time to 
escape with most of their valuables. 

This volcanic soil is wonderfully fertile. The richest 
and finest wines in the world are produced from the 
vineyards here. Nature seems to beguile the listless 
people to dwell upon this treacherous site. They 
seem as free from fear as we are at Blueberry, and yet, 
the fiery flood will as surely come again, as it has 
heretofore, so many times. 


THE LAMARKS. 


219 


We shall be here for some days, but will return to 
Naples, and from there make the ascent of the volcano. 
Uncle Jean says Grace may go as high as she wants 
to. You would be delighted to see how she improves, 
in every way. 

Yours, ever dearest Janet, with love to all, 

Theresa. 


cm. 

JEANNETTE TO THERESA. 

February 21st, 

This letter made me happier than ever, dearest 
Tesa, that dear Grace is so well and happy. You 
have, ere this, started upon your first excursion from 
Naples. Neapolitan life must be a continually vary- 
ing fete. I am doubly happy in sympathy with you, 
and in the fullness of my own joy. What I mean to 
do, I do not exactly know. I am happy enough, and 
shall just quietly wait for you to come, whenever Dr. 
Berenger thinks it will be best for you to do so. But 
I must finish my prosy story. 

On last New Year’s day, I was very anxious about 
our darling Grace. Your little note, telling me of 
her alarming illness, had reached me, and I had heard 
no more. Those feverish hours of uncertainty are 
so wearying and hard to bear. All day long I had 
gone from one room to another, to the windows and 
the doors. Aunt had taken Madeline to Rupert’s 
Hall, and though I wished the day would never pass, 
I thought it never would, the hours went so slow ; and 
every time the great clock struck, it seemed like a 


220 


THE LAMARRS. 


knell, for sure the sun was westering, and yet no sign 
of John. I had been looking forward to this day 
through all the year — for now I might leave Madeline 
to you and Grace, and give myself to him. Ten 
years, you must believe, is long to cherish love — so 
often hopeless — yet this, it seems to me, had only 
made mine stronger every year. And John had loved 
me all this while, although another love had intervened 
— the human heart is capable of many kinds of love. I 
do not blame him, Tesa, but it would take too long 
to tell it all to you. He did no wrong — not even in 
thought — he loved his fair young wife. When God 
took her, his heart returned to me. The near magnet 
may turn the needle from the pole itself, but if re- 
moved, the constant needle seeks at once its place, and 
is an emblem of fidelity. But this is wandering. 

This was the wished-for day, and now he had not 
come — perhaps he would never come ! I had lieen 
cold and distant ; he might have thought that he must 
think of me no more. And Grace might die — might 
even now have passed from earth — my sad heart 
cried. How clear the way had seemed! God had 
made it plain at last! Now all these clouds had 
come, these dreadful clouds ; and it was utter dark- 
ness — so deadly dark — my heart so desolate, morq 
dreary than the night that fell about the house. I 
could not weep or pray. Ah, there, they come ! I 
went toward the door, and smoothed my hair, and 
tried to smile — to meet them cheerfully. Poor old 
Aunt and little Madeline, why should I make them 
sadder than they were? “Oh, John!” I cried, and 
burst into a flood of tears and fell right in his arms, 


THE LAMAKKS. 


221 


beside myself, thus thrown all off my guard, my 
secret love thus told unwittingly! ‘‘Mine own at 
last,” he whispered, tenderly; and said unutterable 
things — so precious I may not write them even here, 
for very shame. He told me how he was delayed 
until he feared that he would lose the day ; and I 
told him my grief for our dear, darling. Grace, and 
how my fears for her, and the keen disappointment 
that he did not come, had so unnerved me. Oh, 
Tesa, what a rest it was ! to know that he still loved 
me, to tell him all my love through all those years, 
even when I had repulsed him. 

Aunt and Madeline soon came, bringing two letters 
— one from Auntie and one from you, saying there 
was hope. Dearest Theresa, the relief and joy, after 
such a grievous day, was almost too much for me, 
with all my strength and even-tempered ways. The 
next day was the Sabbath — a precious, precious day. 
How good we think God is when we have our own 
w^ay 1 John is at his Uncle Carmaneafs ; he comes to 
see me every day. He is greatly changed — but so 
am I. He is almost forty, now, and I am over thirty. 
I do feel old. Only to think, I am older than darling 
Mother was when Father died, by full three years, 
and she bore all that dreadful load of grief. 

Good night, ever affectionately, 

Janet. 


222 


THE LAMAKKS. 


CIV. 

THERESA TO JEANNETTE. 

Naples, Feb. 29th. 

Dearest Janet. 

I have heard your romance to the end at last. I 
will complain no more. What is to be will be. That 
last New-Year Day experience was dreadful. Far be 
it from me to regret its happy ending. You have 
been tried in the furnace, Janet. If he does not prove 
worthy I will feel bitterly. Yet who is or can be 
worthy of you ? I know I am not, and so will let 
John have you. Your constancy deserves reward. 
AVould that I could say as much for him ! 

Jane, we have been to Capri, to Sorrento, the 
birth-place of Tasso, to Paestum ! There are thou- 
sands of images upon the wondrous ' tablets of my 
memory. Would that there were some magic art by 
which I might transfer them to your brain ! How 
can I have the patience to try to do it in this slow way 
with words ? Every instant the scene changed — by 
rail, 671 voiture, before the spreading sail, or to the 
dripping oars upon the beautiful bay, walking, stop- 
ping for a longer look, every glance of the eye pho- 
tographed a new and wonderfully lovely picture in 
fadeless colors — where : 

Clear, perfect pictures of all I beheld, 

There are, some where the images are writ, 

Perfect and wondrous, ne’er to be dispelled ! 

Oh, how would I, that my dull human wit 
Could make them swift before thy vision flit. 


THE LAMARKS. 


223 


Perfect and life-like, as before mine eyes, 

In panoramic range they constant rise. 

Vain hope, . . 

There can be no lovelier landscape on the earth 
than that we gazed upon on this excursion, taking us 
several days. 

When did I write you last ? Ah, yes, from the 
Hotel Diomede. There, these softer beauties must be 
left undescribed for the nonce, for I must tell you that 
we have made the ascent of Vesuvius! The most 
thrilling but not the most delightful of the sights of 
Italy. It was not such an undertaking as I imagined, 
though quite fatiguing. Hundreds, thousands of wo- 
men, old as well as young, make this fashionable as- 
cent every year, who would think themselves half 
killed by a little honest, every-day work I The lower 
part of the ascent is made on horseback, generally, 
live miles along a miserable, rough, old road. Mr. 
Windemer walked at Grace’s side to see that her old, 
raw-boned beast behaved as he should. We passed 
fertile, cultivated gardens and fields, in strange con- 
trast with intervening, dark, rough patches and road- 
ways of old lava — very insecure footing. Then we 
were obliged to dismount, and went on afoot, each 
with a good stout staff in hand, over rough, crumb- 
ling old lava every step. 

It was not long before Mr. Windemer insisted upon 
Grace’s turning back, and waiting for the rest of us 
at the Hermitage. Uncle Jean thought it would be 
just as well, if Grace was willing. And so they went 
back to watch the sunset and await our return. I 
was so relieved, for the lava was already warm be- 


224 


THE LAMARKS. 


neath our feet, and we were obliged to stop every 
few moments to take breath. I could not fully yield 
myself to the excitement from anxiety for her. Now 
our enthusiasm rose every moment. The hot streams 
of lava under the hardened crusts burned our boots, 
and we could see the bright, fiery flood creeping 
down, right at our very feet. I wondered how far up 
they would dare to go. 

Oh, it was intensely exciting ! 1 fairly trembled, 

thrilled through and through by this intensely fear- 
ful experience. Almost scorched, we poked out spec- 
imens from the burning lava streams, until Aunty 
forbade our venturing further, and gathered us in a 
sheltered spot and made us refresh ourselves with an 
unromantic luncheon. It did seem altogether out of 
character to do anything so commonplace as eat on 
Mount Vesuvius ! It did us good, however; for we 
were human, and the body hungered after all this toil, 
although we would ignore it. 

We enjoyed beyond expression the glorious sunset. 
The deep golden light was almost like a halo over the 
vast expanse of wonderfully beautiful landscape ! The 
varied hues of hills and plains, the great city just 
beyond, the fringing shore of verdure about the 
lovely bay studded with emerald isles ! It was beyond 
all words ! 

Quickly the brightness faded and darkened into 
night upon Vesuvius! As the sky grew black the 
lava at our feet grew brighter and brighter until it 
glowed like a furnace, disclosing to our eyes the 
dangers we had only felt before. It was all grander 
than ever! Showers of sparks rose from the great 


THE LAMARKS. 


225 


crater and fell around us, dropping black upon the 
fiery, bright, red rivers of molten lava, upon the 
brink of which we stood — these, nothing but earlier 
currents cooled, brittle, gritty, crumbling and uncer- 
tain, beneath our feet. Lighting their torches, our 
guides helped us at last to mount our horses, and we 
started to descend, in imminent danger of pitching 
headlong down the steep if any of the horses mis- 
stepped. 

We found Grace not only the freshest but the gay- 
est of the party when we reached our hotel at mid- 
night. It has made me tired over again to tell it. How 
stiff and used up we all were ! Oh, dear Janet, if you 
and my little Madeline had only been with us, could 
we have- wished for more ? 

I find, on looking over my letter, that I began with 
Capri and hurried on to tell you of Vesuvius. It is 
fruitless to try to keep you along with us, but I will 
try to tell you something of our last journey ings if 
my mind is not all filled up with other sights before 
I have time. Grace will write soon. Love to Aunt, 
a kiss to Madeline, and a warm embrace for dear 
yourself from both of us. 


Ever, fondly yours, 

Theresa. 


CV. 


GRACE TO JEANNETTE. 


March Mh. 

Dear Sister Jeannette: 

After our Pompeiian excursion, and the ascent of 
which Theresa wrote you, we spent some days at the 
15 


226 


THE LAMARKS. 


Museum Internazione, examining the various collec- 
tions. The most interesting are from the buried 
cities. Those of bronze are the finest in the world. 
Every thing imaginable is there. A catalogue may 
give you some idea of it. The antiquary would 
never weary here. There are thousands of curiosities. 
A tithe of them would be a great wonder at home. 
We have been to Paestum. Leaving Naples at nine 
o’clock, an hour brought us to Castel-a-Mare. Here 
it was that the little town of Stabise stood. That was 
buried when the other cities were destroyed, and here 
the elder Pliny perished. 

From Castel-a-Mare we drove in a carriage along 
the bay. Oh, such a country ! Such grand, ex- 
quisite scenery ! Nowhere in the world can it be 
equaled ! On the one hand the grand mountains, on 
the other the deep azure waters far down below us, 
with the little Italian boats skimming over the placid 
surface, the picturesque islands; and, over all, the 
wonderfully soft and transparent sky ! Never seemed 
nature so inspiring, so enchanting ! Such a combi- 
nation of grandeur and beauty ! Mr. Windemer and 
I sat side by side. I could not speak. My heart was 
too full and happy for Avords. 

The country is so different from that about Baise. 
Every thing there is volcanic, the mountains barren 
and desolate. Here, all nature is fresh and beautiful. 
Orange and lemon groves half screen the vine-clad 
cottages. Mosses and vines and grasses are every- 
where over the rocks, the contrast enhancing their 
beauty. The hotel is said to stand where the home 
of Tasso stood. Mr. Windemer has read aloud his 


THE LAMARKS. 


227 


“Jerusalem Delivered ” to us. How knowledge and 
cultivation add to the charm of every thing ! The- 
resa enjoys all things to the full. She has such fine 
natural tastes and is so well read. I am learning 
every moment. Every spot of ground is replete with 
historic or literary associations. Not to know all 
about these events here is inexcusable ignorance. 
Every body knows every object of interest, and the 
facts that have made these places memorable. One 
is an hungered and athirst for knowledge. You 
have tried to teach me, but I never realized before 
how important and delightful continual mental culti- 
vation is. 

Tell dear Madeline I have some beautiful boxes of 
inlaid wood for her. Theresa has some larger ones 
for you and Aunt. The flowers in them are from the 
great garden adjoining our hotel. Would they could 
disclose to you some of the beauties amid which they 
have bloomed. 

We crossed over to the Island of Capri in little row- 
boats. The green and blue grottes there are wonder- 
ful. I did not want to come away when the exquis- 
ite beauty of the latter was fully revealed to me. I 
feared I should never see it again, and so I lingered to 
the last moment. At high water the aperture by 
which it is entered is quite closed, and it is at all 
times difficult to get in and out. 

That dreadful old Emperor Hadrian had no less 
than twelve palaces on this -marvelous island, orna- 
mented in every way that imagination could devise, 
or wealth and power secure. There are many ruins. 


228 


THE LAMARKS. 


We saw parts of the aqueduct he built to supply the 
beautiful fountains and baths with water. 

A limestone peak divides the island into two parts. 
Those who go from one side to the other must ascend 
a stair of five hundred steps. Strange to tell, there 
are no traces of volcanic action here. Ischia and 
Procida, which are upon the other side of the Bay of 
Naples, are covered with lava. The entire population 
have been driven from them by eruptions in times 
past, and yet they are now covered with vine- 
yards, orange groves and fig trees, and are very pop- 
ulous. 

We are very happy. That your long patience has 
been so happily rewarded makes us doubly grateful. 
I am fully able to partake of the great feast of de- 
lights that is spread before us whichever way we go. 

This new hope of health and strength to do my 
part in life for many years to come, if God so wills, 
is so bright that I can not realize it fully. 

Aunty, Uncle, Theresa, and Mr. Windemer, beg to 
be remembered. 

A kiss to all from your ever-loving, 

Grace. 


CVI. 

VIOLET TO THERESA. 

London, March Ist. 

My Precious Theresa : 

I do thank you from my very heart for your dear let- 
ter. Oh, if it had only come to me sooner it might 
have saved me all these bitter tears. Every word of 


THE LAMARKS. 


229 


it so true. Why am I so alone here and so helpless? 
Did I not tell you I was just a waif— just a bubble or 
a bit of froth on the ocean of life — cast here and 
there by the merest chance, and, it seems to me, into 
such miserable places. It would be impossible to tell 
you all that I have done since I wrote you, but, from 
the fulness of my heart, I must just tell you the last 
and worst of all my follies — our visit to the Italian 
Opera last night ! 

Madge has an Italian music master — a very 
gentlemanly person — who was very anxious that 
she should see this opera. She had asked her mamma 
to take her, but she had put her off until M. Arnote 
insisted on taking her himself. Madge said nothing 
to me about it until just as it was time to start. Mrs. 
Bingal said, Oh, certainly, you must go. Miss Vio- 
let. Lady Edgerton would trust Madge with any of 
her masters.” Hastening to the salon, she presented 
to me M. Arnote’s friend, Count Conderii, and to 
the opera we went. 

I was so taken up by the musie that I did not for 
some time look about us. In the interlude I saw a 
party of young men in the opposite box, with their 
glasses turned full upon us. There were not many 
ladies in the boxes. The throng of brilliant, ele- 
gantly adorned women of rank, that I so much ad- 
mired when Lady Edgerton had taken us to the 
opera before, was entirely wanting. Do you know 
any one here ? ” I whispered to Madge. ‘ ‘ I don’t 
care to, with such good friends beside me,” she said, 
playing with her fan. I was wondering if it was the 
right sort of a place for us, when M. Arnote told me 


230 


THE LAMARKS. 


how lovely the grand circle of shaded lights made the 
ladies in the boxes look. And that I never would 
forget this night if I knew how exquisitely beautiful 
I looked. ‘‘You szuld not blame ze youn^ men 
zare, zey can but gaze.” And I floated off* with this 
whiff of flattery, as happy as Madge herself. 

Presently a familiar voice said behind us, as M. 
Arnote looked back, “ I hope I do not intrude? Ex- 
cuse me. Miss Haughton is an old friend, I must 
learn her address.” I turned, and there was Mr. De 
Montaine. I was glad to see him. Presented him to 
Madge and her friends, and begged him to sit down 
beside me. I thought Madge and the Italians rather 
cool, but exerted myself to be more agreeable. When 
I told him who I was visiting, he seemed extremely 
surprised, and did not seem to understand, even when 
I told him that M. Arnote, Madge’s music master, 
had brought us to enjoy his favorite opera. “ Let me 
see you home safely,” he said, in an undertone. “ It 
is not at all neccessary. You see we have two 
friends.” 

“ I do not think they would mind, as long as they 
have your friend to themselves.” I colored deeply, 
and wished I were in the bottom of the sea. “For- 
give me,” he said. “I was thinking of you, and 
Miss Theresa — she would not like to see you here. 
But you are quite right, you had better keep with 
your friends. I am at your service, remember that ; 
and will take a cab behind your carriage to see you 
safely home, if I may. I will call to-morrow.” Oh, 
Theresa, I can not tell you how I felt ! I could not 
speak when he bade me good night. I thought I 


THE LAMARKS. 


231 


must be in the worst place in the world, and turned 
faint and white with vexation. M. Arnote asked 
me if I were ill, and I controlled myself with diffi- 
culty. 

I saw them smile and glance at each other, as though 
they thought there was some romance between Mr. 
De Montaine and myself. “Come, Madge,” I said, 
after a wffiile. “ Let us go home. I am not well.” 
“ ^^0, no. The next scene is the finest. Every body 
will stare at us if we go now. Just sit still until it is 
all over.” I could not go without her, of course. So 
there I sat, as miserable as possible, trying to look as 
unconcerned as I possibly could, smiling at the silly 
things Madge and her friends were saying — but ready 
to cry out in the great blaze of gas around us. 

Crimson with shame at the thoughts of you and 
Mr. Pinkerton, Aunty Genau, and Mr. De Mon- 
taine’s mother and sisters, oh, Theresa, how glad I 
was when it was over and we were in the carriage 
again ! Through the crowd and confusion I thought 
every moment we would be killed, and almost wished 
we might It was a stormy night. The gas-lights strug- 
gled through the dense fog. How I watched the un- 
steady little cab light as it turned every corner. My 
miserable fears were all aflame at fresh annoyances. 
M. Arnote was very familiar; insisted upon taking 
my hand to impart courage, he said. His friend 
talked shockingly to Madge. I heard him telling her 
of his villa on the Gulf of Genoa, and nothing want- 
ing to its delights but her presence there. She said 
it would be lovely. And M. Arnote asked me how 
I should like to go to Italy with my fascinating friend 


232 


THE LAMARKS. 


Madge. That his gardens adjoined those of Madge’s 
friend ! I bit my lips and clinched my hands to keep 
from screaming outright, and saw the little cab was 
close at hand. How I blest it ! How could I ever 
have taken any pleasure in these hair-brained ex- 
ploits ! 

But we did get home . safe. Mrs. Bingal was at 
the door, and the little cab-light was lost in the fog. 
Sir Henry had not yet returned with his party. “ Oh, 
Madge,” I cried, when we had reached our room, ‘‘how 
could you have done it?” “ What, you silly child! 
There is no harm done! Come, cheer up! We’re 
all right now.” “Did Lady Edgerton know where 
you were going ? None of her friends were there. 

‘ ‘ Of course not. I should not have gone had I not 
known that. I did not want to see her friends.” 
“Oh, Madge, how could you have done it? Mr. 
De Montaine is a friend of Mr. Pinkerton. He will 
tell him all about it. Madge, it is dreadful ! Those 
horrid Italians, too ! I despise them ! I shall tell 
Lady Edgerton how familiar M. Arnote was. He 
has no business to be your music-teacher — and his 
friend a thousand times worse ! ” I cried with shame 
and anger, as I lay fairly sobbing on the bed. “I 
thought I could trust you, Violet Haughton — or in 
your simplicity, at least. Mamma has no business to 
try to put me down as she does ! You tell her, if 
you dare ! ” 

Dear Theresa, what do you think of me ? I cried 
until I fell asleep, worn out. This morning I tried 
to remove the traces of my tears, which your letter 
started afresh, and now I feel so much better. I am 


THE LAMARKS. 


233 


too angry to speak to Madge. She* came down to 
lunch as fresh a little hypocrite as ever lived ; and I 
as undecided as ever as to what I ought to do. I 
know I ought to tell Lady Edgerton, but it will bring 
Madge and Mrs. Bingal into disgrace, and I may not 
be believed — for they would deny every thing, of 
course. If you were only here to help me ! You 
know how weak and foolish I am, and what patience 
you had with me withal. But can you forgive my 
base cowardice in all this, when Madge is running 
such a frightful risk, and I do not dare open my 
mouth ? 

I will annoy you with this long story, but my con- 
science is the better for having told some one. I hope 
to see Mr. De Montaine to-day, and will ask him to 
tell Mr. Pinkerton to come for me. What new folly 
shall I be guilty of in the mean time ? I will try my 
best! 

Farewell. Kiss Grace, and give my regards to your 
Sister Janet, when you write. 

Ever, your miserable, but loving 
Violet. 


evil. 

GRACE TO JEANNETTE. 

Naples, March 6th, 

Dearest Sister: 

I, too, have a confession to make. I ought to have 
told you in my last letter, for I have been wanting to 
tell you for many days, but hesitate, from day to day, 
because I scarcely know how to begin. I know it is 


234 


THE LAMARKS. 


foolish. Surely you should know my iumost thoughts. 
We have a friend, you know — the artist. We met him 
first at Paris. I wish you knew how kind and strong 
and true and wise he is. He has told me of his love, 
Sister dearest, and I am very happy. I did not 
surely know. I some times thought it might be so, 
and then I often thought he must love Tesa best. 
She is so beautiful and bright, every body seems 
charmed and fascinated with her. 

We came down all alone from the great volcano the 
day of our ascent, and while we rested at the Hermitage 
he gave me a letter to read, that came recently from 
America, recalling him. I think he watched me as I 
read, for the pain I tried hard to conceal betrayed me. 
He took my hand and pressed it to his lips, whispering 
in my ears his fervent love. ‘ ‘ I can not go without 
you. Will you, will you go?” Sister dear, I shook 
my head and almost burst into tears, like a little 
frightened child. Quick surprise and pain I saw 
upon his face. I thought you loved me ? ” he said. 

‘ ‘ Have I been deceived by my own love ? ” I told 
him, then, the story of your long and patient love, 
and how you soon would wed, and I should stay with 
Tesa till Madeline was old enough to take my place. 
And so I could not go. 

And Sister, dear, I did not deny my love. It was 
happiness enough, he said, for this day at least, and 
that his hope was brighter than yon setting sun. ‘‘I 
can not give you up so easily, my precious Grace,” 
he said. ‘‘ I know your happiness is dearer to those 
who love you, than even their own. Let me speak 


THE LAMARKS. 


235 


to your sisters myself, and if they are unwilling I 
will say no more — not now, at least. 

I would not have Tesa know until I hear from you. 
I know she would insist upon my doing my own will, 
and I have none in this but yours. Besides, I have 
so much to learn, dear Sister. I am such a child — 
so weak and helpless, and ignorant of every thing 
useful a good man’s wife should know. I should 
surely disappoint him, by and by, when earnest work 
should fall on me. You can teach me much the little 
while you stay, and then I will try to take your place 
at home, repaying a little of the great debt I owe you 
all, striving to improve in all things for his sake. 

‘‘Oh, how I love him, darling Sister! I thought 
I loved a friend a year ago, but that was so different 
from this. That was a sister’s love. I know it now. 
This fills my heart up full. And yet I love our gentle 
pastor just the same as I have always loved him from 
a little child. This clinging, soulful love, that I feel 
now, makes me feel like a little vine that clings closer 
and closer as it grows to some great, noble tree, that 
spreads its branches far into the sky. It seems most 
strange that he should care for me, or seek to help 
me in my feebleness. And, oh, how doubly wonder- 
ful and precious when he says that no hope in the 
world gives him such joy, as the sweet thought that 
all his life he may just love and cherish and minister 
to me — poor, helpless, little me I 

I could write all night long, but Tesa bids me come. 
We will not write again until we heat from you. 
Direct your reply to this to Charles Windemer, who 
will send a note with it. 


236 


THE LAMARKS. 


Dearer than ever, in this precious sympathy of love, 
believe me, darling Sister, 

Your own devoted, 

Grace. 


CVIII. 

MR, WINDEMER TO MISS LAMARK. 

Naples, March 6th, 

Miss Lamark : 

Can not this darling girl be spared to go with me 
to my home in America ? I know her thoroughly. I 
appreciate her fully, and love her devotedly. She 
loves me in return. I feel that no man living can 
make her happier than I. If I doubted this I would 
not ask her to be my wife. It is painful to me to de- 
prive her sisters of the solace of her sweet compan- 
ionship, but life is uncertain. It is always hazardous 
to leave to the future the fulfillment of these precious 
hopes when there is no imperative necessity for de- 
lay. Then let me have her now. I may return to 
Europe in the early autumn. If her health and hap- 
piness seem to require it I will surely come. In my 
native land there is the almost tropical south, and the 
cool, bracing air of the north. We will go wherever 
it is most salubrious, as the seasons change, even to 
the shores of the great Pacific, if we .deem it best. 
My mother will be a mother to her, my sisters will 
receive her gladly. 

When she longs for her own dear kindred — her 
sisters, to whom she seems so entirely devoted, and 
for her home — she shall come, for my work is mostly 


THE LAMARKS, 


237 


here, and we must needs come and go, from time to 
time. I know she will do just as you say. Dear, good 
Sister Jeannette, do not say a word that will cloud 
these bright hopes, but speed the fond wishes of. 
Yours, respectfully and fraternally, 
Charles Windemer. 

CIX. 

THERESA TO VIOLET. 

Naples, March l^th. 

My poor little Violet : 

I do not wonder you were so miserable. What ex- 
crable ways you are finding out ! I pity you so much 
that there is scarcely any room for vexation in my 
heart, but I do wish you would learn to speak the 
truth out boldly w^hen it is necessary. I do not want 
to perplex Mr. Pinkerton, or to prejudice him against 
friends he seems to trust, but he should know it if 
they are not trustworthy. He should know the truth 
and decide for himself. Lest you have not written to 
him freely, as you should have done, I have just en- 
closed him all your letters to me. He can form his 
own judgment from them. 

You must not be offended with me for this. I 
would not have done it except for your sake. I am 
too far away to be of any service to you. He would 
have heard it all some time, but then it would, per- 
haps, be too late. He ought to know, and can find 
out, how much truth there is in Madge’s nonsense. 
You or I could never do it. If they are false friends 


238 


THE LAMARKS. 


they have deceived him long enough. I am grieved 
to think so much time is already lost. 

We have left Naples several times, and have been 
moving around so that your letters have not reached 
me promptly. Write to me, directing to Naples un- 
til you hear from me again, and believe me. 

Ever, your sincere friend, 

Theresa. 


CX. 

JEANNETTE TO GRACE. 

March ISth, 

Dear, darling, precious Grace, how can I tell you 
all the thoughts of my heart at the precious tidings 
of your mutual love ? It is the sweetest boon of life. 
Just at your age I loved and was beloved. My sad 
experience will be of use to us all. You need not, 
must not, delay to make your lover blest. If you 
are sure you love devotedly, and doubt not the love 
of this devoted friend — if you feel that your happi- 
ness is bound up in his life — then you need not fear 
to give yourself to him. Always confident that he is 
worthy of your love ; this I can not doubt. You could 
not love, you are too pure and pious to love unworth- 
ily. I must have faith, full faith in your own choice, 
fall on whom it will. 

Tell dear Tesa at once. Tell her every thing 
frankly. It may be she has some secret thoughts that 
she has kept from you. Concealment in these loves of 
the heart is one of the weak conventionalities of life. 
There is no weakness or folly in loving. It is the 


THE LAMAKKS. 


239 


dearest, sweetest, truest, wisest bit of nature’s gladness 
in the world. Love with all the fullness of your heart, 
and rejoice in the love of the great warm heart that has 
given itself to you. I feel as though I have indeed 
a brother at last. Theresa has already written admir- 
ingly of his generous nature and cultivated mind, 
and of his fame in his profession. He must be de- 
vout, or I do not think my Grace would love and 
trust him as she does, nor would he love her were he 
not spiritually minded. 

Yielding and unselfish, you have always been, dear 
child, and doubtless ever will be. It should be a wo- 
man’s pride to yield to him she loves ; and if he be 
worthy he will love her better for it, and rejoice to 
do her pleasure. You will soon learn to be useful. 
Love makes every thing easy. 

Write me soon again, when you have talked with 
your friend and with Theresa ; I shall then know what 
is best for all to do. 

God bless you, dear child, for ever and ever, is the 
prayer of your loving Sister, 

Janet. 


CXI. 

MISS LAMARK TO MR. WINDEMER. 

Br.uEBERRY Hall, March 14:th, 
My Dear Mr. Windemer: 

Your wishes are too reasonable to be denied. If 
darling Grace has given her heart to you it is best 
that you be married whenever it is your mutual wish. 
Yet one thing I must say. I shrink from throwing 


240 


THE LAMARKS. 


any obstacle in the way of your happiness or hers, but 
clear Grace has always been extremely delicate ; do 
you think her health is sufficiently established for her 
to become a wife ? I trust and pray it is, but after 
her recent alarming illness it scarcely seems possible 
that she can be strong enough for happiness for either 
of you, much less for a life of usefulness. I desire 
you to consult with Dr. Berenger, and satisfy your- 
self perfectly upon this point. An invalid wife would 
be a great care, that few men could find any thing but 
a great grief, and it would be a source of yet deeper 
grief to darling Grace to feel herself a burden to 
you. 

When you have determined fully your own mind, 
pray let me hear from you. 

Believe me, affectionately, and with sincere regard, 
Jeannette Lamark. 

CXII. 

GRACE TO JEANNETTE. 

March 23d. 

I have had the dearest talk with dear, sweet Tesa, 
my own good Sister Janet. How can I ever thank 
you for bidding me go frankly to her and open my 
full heart. It seemed so very hard to do at first, but 
I had only said, ‘‘Dear Tesa, you must know,” when 
she took me right up in her loving arms and said, 
“ My precious Grace, I am so glad and grateful you 
have won the love of this great, true heart that will 
bless you all your life. So doubly glad you can give 
Jove for love. I thought it must be so. Has he won 


THE LAMARKS. 


241 


your whole heart?” ‘‘My whole heart. I say it 
solemnly. I do not think I ever knew before, at 
all, what true love means. I love my home friends 
dearly, but here is something more. I can leave all 
I ever loved before to go with this dear friend to the 
world’s end — even my mother-sisters. With him there 
is no place where I could be unhappy — without him, 
none w^here I could feel content.” “ It is enough,” 
she said. “ Now, tell me every thing.” And so I 
did. 

“ There is no need to wait. We will go very soon 
to Janet, and you and she must both be w^ed at 
once.” “ No, no,” I cried. “ I am to stay with you 
and learn some wifely arts before I dare become a 
wife.” She insists, dear Sister, that this need not be. 

Delays are dangerous. Janet know^s this too well. 
We will not let you stay. Mr. Windemer is right to 
quite refuse to go without you.” “ So let it be,” I 
said. “ I can’t gainsay even one of you — much less all 
three. Now tell me just one thing,” I asked, at last, 
“Have you some plan yourself that makes you will- 
ing to spare us so soon ? ” Dear Janet, she flushed 
crimson, and I knew she loved — but who ? In vain 
I coaxed and pleaded. She would not give me the least 
clue, but said this much, before the next new moon 
that I would know the truth. Who can it be ? Mr. 
Romaine has followed her here from Paris. M. Disini 
she seems sometimes to prefer. I hoped at one time 
she might accept Mr. De Montaine ; but it is useless 
to conjecture, there are so many. She treats them all 
with apparent indifference, although she seems greatly 
16 


242 


THE LAMARKS. 


to enjoy the society of several. M. Kosine, of Prov- 
ence, returns in a few days — it may be he. I will 
have to restrain my impatience, for she has made up 
her mind^ and I can learn no more. 

She leaves very soon for Kome. She says these 
frantic doings of ours are going to hurry her home 
from Italy, and she must see some things before she 
leaves all these enchanting novelties forever. It is 
very damp at Rome this season, and I shall wait to 
go with Mr. Windemer next year. You will scarcely 
hear from her again. Indeed, of late she has left me 
to be scribe, after my long rest, and is constantly en- 
gaged with friends in sight-seeing. 

By the middle of the coming month we will be at 
home ! There will be little time for preparation, as 
Mr. Windemer must sail for New York in May. ‘‘ It 
does not need any great preparation for a sensible wo- 
man like you,” my mentor says. Still, as Tesa says, 
the Americans lay more stress on these things than 
any people in the world. I must be at least respect- 
able, not to shock my lover’s friends. So we will 
stop at Paris for needful things. What can we do for 
you? 

Good night. Theresa and your Brother Charles 
send love. The latter says, That you may expect 
to hear that he has grown a very famous artist, for he 
begins to cherish art anew. For never worthy man 
worked worthily who was not moved by love.” I an- 
swered him at once from his own favorite Katrina, 

No heart of man, though loving well and loving 
worthily, can be content with any human love.” 


THE LAMARKS. 


243 


“There will surel}^ come ^ 

A sad, sad time, when in your famished soul 
The cry for something more and more divine 
Will rise, nor be repressed. 

To honor God, to benefit mankind. 

To serve with lofty gifts the lowly needs 
Of the poor race for which the Godman died, 
And do it all for love. Oh, this is great ! 

And he who does this will achieve a name 
Not only great but good.” 

With a fond embrace, he added from the poet : 

“ My darling, Christ doth live in thee. 

And through thy life will shine into my soul. 
Together we shall grow in all things great 
Tlirough faith in Him who died.” 


Is is not, dear Sister, the brightest hope this world 
can ever give ? 


Fondly, your happy 


Grace. 


CXIII. 

THERESA TO JEANNETTE. 

Naples, March 24th. 

My Own Dear Sister : 

To think our little Grace has taken this decided 
step in life, has given herself away, her heart fairly 
won by strength of .love and strength of life ! These 
great stalwart arms have just carried off their prize, 
and we can trust them to carry it even to the very 
end of the earth. I verily believe she has told me all. 
If it were any body but you I should be furiously 
jealous that she has written of her love to you before 


244 


THE LAMARKS. 


ever breathing a word of it to me, though sleeping in 
my arms every night. 

I knew she was beloved, but knew nothing of her 
own feelings, she was so quiet, so undemonstrative al- 
ways, and I knew not but her heart still turned to 
the object of her child-life love. Had she forgotten, 
or was the wound I felt must be there still unhealed ? 
And, lo, it was all free for a new love ! 

I can not tell you how happy and thankful I am, 
for many reasons. You will know them all by and 
by. I believe her happiness secured. You are 
free to go your way with John, and I shall have 
my way and Madeline. 

I can not write of even Naples now, nor care much 
longer to remain among these foreign scenes. “ The 
heart’s aye the part aye,” etc. And now that your 
two hearts are squaring up hearts’ desires, I, too, shall 
let my own have free play to prove itself. You shall 
know all when time shall make all plain. 

Ever, dearest Janet, yours, 
Theresa. 


CXIV. 

MR. WINDEMER TO JEANNETTE. 

March 29th. 

Dear, Thoughtful Sister Jeannette : 

I was more than satisfied as to the health of my 
darling Grace before I told her of my love. I have 
no fears for myself nor for her. Her physicians were 
my friends. They have studied her case carefully. 
None of us have any certain lease of life. I have 


THE LAMARKS. 


245 


been with ber every day. She is well now — as bloom- 
ing as a rose, though fair as a lily, and sweeter than 
any thing poet ever dreamed of. I would rather have 
her my wife and carry her right in these arms as long as 
our Heavenly Father spares her to me, than that Hebe 
herself should bless me with her love. Grace is my 
heau ideal of an artist’s wife. If she were less angelic 
I should not love her as I do. Her very frailness 
has made it joy to me to be her strength. 

So fear not, prudent Sister, but believe with us that 
we are the most blest and happiest mortals in the 
world, not excepting you and John. 

.Thanking and esteeming you for your frankness, 
yours, Charles Windemer. 

cxv. 

VIOLET TO THERESA. 

London, March 12th, 

Oh, Theresa, I actually cried with vexation when 
I learned from your letter that you had sent my fool- 
ish, silly letters to Mr. Pinkerton. I thought I never 
should trust you again. How could you ever have 
thought of doing such a thing ? 

If it must be told, could you not have found some 
other way ? What will he think of me ! What will 
he think ! What will he think ! I cried, over and 
over again. And he will tell Aunty Genau. What 
shall I do ! What shall I do ! And I wrung my 
hands and ran to my room and hid myself, and when 
Madge found me and begged me to tell her what was 
the matter, it was all I could do to keep from telling 


246 


THE LAMARKS. 


her all about it, for now I had nobody in the world 
to tell my troubles to. I wanted to run away off 
where nobody would know me. 

I write all this just because I want you to know 
how bad I was, and to tell you that I burned up the 
cross, miserable letter I wrote you when I felt all 
this, and now here I am safe away from it all. And 
though the thought of seeing Mr. Pinkerton quite 
throws me into a fever, I hope he is not so angry with 
me as I feared, after all, for he has come to my 
rescue again in such a kind, considerate way, that I 
think I must thank you as well as him. I know, my 
dear, wise friend, you did what was best for me, and 
I ought to love you more than ever. How much 
you have done for me, and how unworthy I am, my 
good, precious Theresa ! Will you, can you forgive 
and still love such a weak, foolish child ? 

But I must tell you that Mr. Pinkerton requested 
Mr. De Montaiue, who has just arrived in London 
with his mother and sister, to call upon Lady Edger- 
ton, with a note requesting- her to permit me to spend 
a few days with them. Lady Edgerton seemed very 
well pleased, ‘‘Hoping, my dear child, that we may 
have you with us again very soon to finish your visit 
when dear Mr. Pinkerton joins you.” Lady Edger- 
ton will call on Mrs. De Montaine to-morrow, and 
leave me with her during her stay. 

Oh, I am so glad ! I thought it best to leave 
Madge to her own devices, and will not say a word. 
I know it is cowardly. You would act so differently, 
but if I had been the least bit like you none of this 
had ever happened. But one thing I do mean to 


THE LAMARKS. 


247 


have my own way about, I shall not go back there 
again unless Mr. Pinkerton takes me himself. I will, 
if possible, go home with Mrs. De Montaine. Though 
Lady Edgerton did say that the house would be so dull 
without me, that she could not possibly spare me more 
than a few days, and that I must stay, or, at least, 
come back in a few weeks, when the season would 
fairly begin, for I had only seen quiet London under a 
cloud, and she made the greatest ado to Mrs. De IVIon- 
taine. 

Did you know there were ever such people in the 
world ? I am more confused than ever, for Madge 
said, when I bade her good bye, ‘‘ Mamma is so dis- 
appointed because you did not fall in love and run 
away with one of those handsome Italians, then she 
would have had .‘Mr. Pink’ all to herself you 
know ! ” What does she mean ? I might as well 
not care, for I shall die if they ever get me there 
again by myself Is it only Madge’s nonsense, or is 
it her mother’s way ? What do you think ? Mr. De 
Montaine is so kind, and is handsomer than ever. 
He enjoys listening to all the pleasant, noble things I 
love dearly to say about you, and he says some w^on- 
derfully flattering things about you himself It would 
be hardly fair, or, at least, no use to ask you if 
you love him. Sometimes I hope you do, and 
sometimes I hope you do not. How happy I would 
be if Edwin loved me as Mr. De Montaine loves you, 
and if he was as good as Edward De Montaine, so 
devoted to his mother and Isabel, and they are so 
fond and proud of him. 

I have seen a good many men here, but somehow I 


248 


THE LAM ARKS. 


can’t quite forget poor Edwin, although he does seem 
so boyish, as I remember him. If Lady Edgerton 
had permitted me to receive the continued attentions 
of some two or three admirers, I might feel differently, 
possibly ; but now I like best of all to be with Mr. De 
Montaine, perhaps, because I know him so well, re- 
spect him so much, and — oh, well, one hardly knows 
how it is — is it not good in him to be so kind to 
Your fond, foolish, 

Violet. 


CXVI. 

JEANNETTE TO GRACE. 

Blueberry Hall, April Sd, 18 — . 

I am sorry, darling Grace, that Theresa did not re- 
turn frankness for frankness. I should be greatly re- 
lieved to know her feelings. She has always been 
thus reticent. She doubtless has some pet romance 
of her own, and will succeed in surprising us at last. 
By the way. Aunt Bachel insists upon having Mr. 
Lacy invited to officiate at my marriage. I should 
like it very much, but made no reply to her sugges- 
tion, waiting until I hear how you and Theresa feel 
about it. If you will let me know in your next let- 
ter I will write him at once should you both desire it. 
It would be delightful to me, particularly, if we are 
both married at the same time. What say you at 
our own little chapel ? Let Theresa decide for us. 
And as to Uncle Jean and Auntie’s returning with 
you, I think we could make them comfortable in 
“ our farm-house,” but dare say Theresa is spoiled for 


THE LAMARKS. 


249 


peace of mind in the “ prim old place,” and may not 
care to have them come so soon, or until she can im- 
prove its looks with her new taste. 

I am so absorbed in these all-important and de- 
lightful prospects, changing so suddenly *the course 
of our hitherto uneventful lives, that I have little 
thought of any thing else — am indifferent even to 
Italy. And yet I am very grateful that you have so 
often shared your pleasures with me by telling me 
much that has interested me greatly. 

You were prudent not to venture to Rome. There 
will be time enough hereafter if your hopes prosper. 

Farewell, with love to Mr. Windemer, to Aunt, 
Uncle, and Theresa. 

Ever, devotedly, your Sister, 

Janet. 


CXVII. 

GRACE TO JEANNETTE. 

Naples, April Sth, 

Dearest Sister : 

Have you heard the dreadful news? Mr. Lacy 
has perished, off the coast of Sicily ! He was on his 
way here to see poor Tesa ! She could not conceal 
her intense distress. She seemed to suffer the deepest 
agony for hours. She had hastened from Rome to be 
here on the sixth (6th), when she expected him! 
I do not quite understand it, but it seems she had told 
him he might come on that day. There had been 
rough and stormy weather for a day and night. I 
remember, now, how restless and anxious she seemed 


250 


THE LAM ARKS. 


all the while. We were all at breakfast, the gentle- 
men reading the morning news. Presently Uncle 
Jean said : ‘‘ An English vessel went down yesterday 
at dawn, off Sicily. More than half the passengers 
were lost!” ‘‘Are there any names?” I asked. 
“Yes, here they are,” and he read them glibly off. 
“ Oh, Theresa,” I cried, “ that must be our dear 
friend!” when he said “the Reverend Edward 
Lacy I ” “ How dreadful ! Perhaps he was coming 

to see us. How I should have loved to see him ! ” 
All this while I never thought of Tesa once. I 
praised his loveliness and excellence, and turned and 
cried, “Oh, Theresa, words can never tell how pure 
and good he was 1 Are you not sorry that he will 
never come ? ” I looked, but she was gone. I felt 
confused — thought I had betrayed too much regret, 
or said too much — and went on to tell how he had 
been our pastor since I was quite a child. And at 
last, when I could slip away, I went to find her. In 
vain I tried to get the lock turned back ! She never 
heard, or feigned not to hear, my pounding at the 
door, until worn out I cried, “I must bring Uncle 
Jean!” 

And then I heard her move — the bolt was drawn, 
and I went in — terrified to see the wild, dry look 
about her eyes, her hair dishevelled, her robe all dis- 
arranged ! I never was so terrified in all my life ! 
Oh, Sister, it was dreadful ! I started back, without 
a word, to run for help, but she was too quick for me, 
and set herself against the door and grasped my arm ! 
“ Have patience, child,” she said. “ I shall be better 
soon. Just sit down there and wait! ” I dared not 


THE LAMARKS. 


251 


disobey — she was so strong and stern. I sat right 
down and burst into a flood of tears ! 

She looked at me and ran and threw herself down 
at my feet, begging me to forgive her that she gave 
me pain, buried her face deep in my lap and wept 
hot, burning tears, w^hile I wept over her ! At last 
she raised her head. “Now, precious, I am better. 
This hurts me so because I have done wrong. He 
has loved me for years. I have made light of it, and 
put him off I did not want, indeed, to be a poor 
parson’s wife. 

“ First, I thought I did not love enough, and then 
I thought you loved him and would make a better 
wife for him, and so I went away and left him to you. 
Then I was sorely vexed because he went away, fear- 
ing you loved him. Finding he still loved me, I 
determined yet to try this foreign land, and if it 
did not tempt me I might at last admit my love 
for him, give up my pride, and settle down a country 
parson’s wife. I have tried myself, and found out 
more and more that he had my whole heart. Oh, 
baleful, hateful pride, to wreck my happiness for- 
ever ! 

“I knew that he would come. What saintly pa- 
tience he had always had with me ! I meant at last — 
this very, very day, to throw away ‘the mask and 
make him happy when he came. If he only knew. 
I care not for myself. I ought to suffer. I deserve 
it all. I would be willing to bear this all my life if 
I could but tell him I have loved him all these years, 
and see his joy one hour in my confession ! ” 

I can not tell you more. Through sobs and bitter 


252 


THE LAMARKS. 


weepings these distressful words were wrung. She is 
better now. I stand between her and her friends. 
She says they must not know one word of this, and 
in a day or two she will go to them again and give 
no sign. She wishes to go home at once, never to see 
again these scenes that lured her from the first and 
best of men to his destruction. 

Oh, dear Sister, I can not understand her. I know 
she will act as though all this had never been, and I 
will be in mortal terror lest I betray her. We will 
start home next week with Mr. Windemer. Theresa 
insists upon it. 

Ever, with love, yours, 

Grace. 

P. S. — I add a line this morning to tell you that 
Theresa seems quite herself again. I think it will 
hurt all the longer in thus smothering her sorrow. 
She says if it is God’s will He will help her bear it. 
She will not listen to any changes in our plans. Says 
this shows us once again how wrong it is to put off 
needlessly these precious bonds of love when God 
seems to lead us to them. 

You need not write again to Naples. Your letter 
would not reach us. Direct your next to Paris, then 
welcome home. 

Save for grief for these two dear ones. 

Your happy 

Grace. 


THE LAMARKS. 


253 


CXVII. 

GRACE TO JEANNETTE. 

Naples, A'pril lO^A. 

Dearest Sister: 

Is it not strange? Your letter has just come, in 
which you speak of poor, dear Mr. Lacy. How I 
should have loved to have had it all, just as you said. 
Then he and darling Tesa might have been married, 
too — we three together ! Oh, why are these sad, in- 
explicable events permited by Our Father? I can 
not indulge my heart in my own happiness, in grief 
for this cruel disappointment. Theresa feels her loss 
so keenly, and is so bitterly grieved at her own willful 
caprice. She calls me — she has gone ! Dear Sister, 
she has gone to Sicily to seek for him she loved ! Dr. 
Berenger brought us tidings of some Englishmen, 
who have just reached here, saved from the wrecked 
vessel. 

They say that several passengers supposed to have 
been lost have been heard from ; and they were told 
that some lay very ill at points ashore. When poor 
Tesa^s first faintness had passed away she called me 
and said that she would go and look for him. ‘‘ That 
would seem so strange,” I said, most innocently. You 
should have seen the withering glance she cast at me. 
‘‘What care I whether it seem strange or not! My 
day to seem has passed. ‘ Esse quam viderV Call 
Uncle Jean and Aunty. I shall tell them every 
thing. I owe it to the man whom I have sacrificed — 


254 


THE LAMAEKS. 


the noblest, purest man that ever walked this earth, 
and served the precious Master.'*’ 

When they had come she told it all as calmly as I 
write it now. “ He may be dead,” she said, at last. ‘‘ If 
he is not, he may be lying iil in some poor place. 
Nothing but death, or sickness unto death, had kept 
liim from me on the day I said that he might come. 
If he is ill, he needs my care, and I am going where 
he is to seek for him, at least. If he be lost to me 
forever, in this life, I will know the truth, and realize 
it best upon the spot.” 

“We must go with you, dear Theresa,” Aunty 
said. “No, I had rather go alone, unless Uncle Jean 
will go with me. If he is ill there may be no phy- 
sician where he is that I could trust.” “ I will gladly 
go,” good Uncle said, at once. “That is just as it 
should be. Your Aunt will stay with Grace, and 
Mr. Windemer can take care of them. When do 
you wish to start?” “ Now. I have already lost too 
much time.” 

In an hour they were on their way. Passengers 
from the lost vessel say that they were wrecked upon 
the rocks of Ostica, in keeping off Cape Gallo, as 
they were trying to make the port of Palermo. We 
shall anxiously await tidings from them, and will 
promptly forward all intelligence to you. 

Love to Aunt and Madeline. It seems like hoping 
against hope, but stranger things have happened, and 
we will pray that she may find him, and that God 
may grant us all our hopes at last. 

Ever, your loving, 

Grace. 


THE LAMAKKS. 


255 


CXIX. 


GRACE TO JEANNETTE. 

April 20th. 

Dear, darling Sister : 

I send you two little notes just received from Dr. 
Berenger. You will grieve wdth us, I know', in the 
apparent hopelessness of their sad search. You should 
have seen the astonishment of Theresa’s friends here 
when they heard of her departure, and their utter 
amazement when they knew her errand. She gave 
no injunctions of secrecy — indeed, told Aunty she 
might tell every' thing to whomsoever she chose. 
Three or four gentlemen have already left Xaples dis- 
consolate. I do not believe she ever encouraged them 
to think she felt any especial interest in them ; but 
she certainly made it very delightful for them in her 
bright, reckless way, that I never could understand 
or approve of 

Aunty is greatly disappointed in this turn of af- 
fairs. She hoped her handsome niece would have be- 
stowed her hand upon some one of her w'ealthy, ele- 
gant or distinguished suitors, either here or in France. 
I do believe she would rather see Theresa suffer as she 
does than to have her return to England and settle 
down as Mr. Lacy’s wife. Now she hopes, perhaps, that 
the great consoler, time, will heal this wound, and 
Theresa may erelong return to live wdth her, and 
lead the brilliant life she is so well fitted to enjoy. 
She does not know her as we do, or she would know 
that this can never be. 


256 


THE LAMARKS. 


Whatever Tesa does she does with her whole soul. 
Aunty is very proud. Her pride colors all her 
thoughts and feelings. It is the way of the world. 
And it is harder, the more one is gifted with the good 
things of this world, to get above it — even God’s 
purest, noblest gifts often tempt from His service. I 
am more and more thankful that our hearts were 
early imbued with a love of better things, and a just 
sense of the inferiority of earthly pleasures. 

Ever, in love, your 

Grace. 


cxx. 

DR. TO MADAME BERENGER. 

OsTiCA, April l^th. 

Never, dearest wife, did you see such strength and 
determination as this wonderful woman has ; no 
moping, no fretting, every hour she seems to display 
some new phase of excellence and spirit. It comes 
down from above, she says, and I do believe it does — 
unless it grows out of the intense desire she has to 
make amends for the great wrong she thinks she has 
done. Would that we could find him living. I 
would like to take the hand of the man she loves. 
Five days we have sought in vain for any tidings of 
him, in and out among the islands, and neither her 
strength or hope seem to flag. I have not the heart 
to discourage. I dread the moment when there will 
be no where else to go. She will bear that too. I 


THE LAMARKS. 257 

know it. We go from Ostica to Palermo. You will 
hear again shortly. 

Know ever, my precious one, the devotion of your 

Jean. 


CXXI. 

DR. TO MADAME BERENGER. 

Palermo, April lUh, 

Three days more, dearest wife, and no tidings! 
Three days of intense alternate hope and disap- 
pointment, and still poor Theresa will not give him 
up. We are at Palermo, having learned down the 
coast that several passengers from the lost ship were 
♦arried here. We have tracked various persons from 
place to place. One or another said this or that to 
give some hope, which always led to final, deeper dis- 
appintment. I should know him instantly from her 
oft-repeated descriptions of his appearance. I am 
just setting out now to inquire through the city. 

Two hours of fruitless search; a long rest from the 
intense heat of mid-day, another effort at evening to 
get some clue in th'is great novel city. At length one 
said, a man had said to him, that he had heard some 
shipwrecked men were carried to Scutari. A long 
search, with just a crumb of comfort, for these men 
were found, and one of them had seen Mr. Lacy, 
after the vessel parted, clinging to a spar, and swim- 
ming for the coast, which he thought he could reach. 
They were separated by the waves, and he knew no 
more of him. 

17 


258 


THE LAMARKS. 


Good night, dearest wife, 
in the arms of your devoted 


Would that you were 
Jean. 


CXXII. 

JEANNETTE TO GRACE. 

Blueberry, A'jfyril 11th, 

Dear, darling Grace, how shocked I am at the 
dreadful tidings your letter bears ! Poor Tesa ! Dear, 
dear Theresa, let us hope there is some mistake. What 
a loss to her, and to all who ever knew him ! Dear 
Grace, we can not enjoy our own happiness in the very 
presence of her sorrow. What shall we do? She 
will strive not to let it mar our joys. She will seek 
to hide it all away until we are gone, but I know she 
will never forget it while she lives. I do hope and 
pray there is some mistake. In these disasters at sea 
there always is hope that those given up for lost may 
be cut off in some by -place, and will sooner or later 
make their way home. This long-dying hope is per- 
haps the hardest of all to bear. 

The news has spread among our friends, as such ill 
news always spreads, and universal grief prevails 
throughout the parish. Theresa would be comforted 
by Aunt Kachel’s deep sorrow. Even little Madeline 
has shed her bitter tears. We have always had a 
great hope that he would come to live amongst us 
again. 

Do persuade Theresa to write to me, to let me try 
to help her. Tell her it will comfort me. Beg her to 
write. The merciful God, our Father, never ordered 


THE LAMARRS. 


259 


this inscrutable event, but He will bring good out 
of it. 

Sorrowing with you most tenderly, 

Janet. 


CXXIII. 

DR. TO MADAME BERENGER. 

Palermo, A’pril 20th. 

Two more days, dearest wife. We are going to 
visit the convents here, and then if we can learn 
nothing of Mr. Lacy, Theresa has consented to start 
homeward, provided I will go, as we have come, by 
the shore, touching at various points. I am greatly 
interested here, and was our errand of a different nat- 
ure would enjoy every thing. Poor Theresa bears 
up well, but begins to look worn ; still, she does not 
complain . When the magnificent prospect from Mount 
Peregrino burst upon us, as we turned to view it, she 
said quietly, all her old enthusiasm gone, ‘‘ It is very 
grand ; but there are times when the heart can not 
enjoy. Forgive me, good Uncle Jean, if I mar 
your pleasure. I can not help it now. The broad 
expanse of island and of sea, which I might once 
have thought so glorious, has for me now but one all- 
absorbing interest ; where is the spot where lies my 
best friend? Where can he be? Would that the 
sea, or earth or air would answer me ! So it is every- 
where, and yet she does not give way, nor distress me 
with tears nor womanish weaknesses. 

She has told me many things that make me admire 
Mr. Lacy greatly, and sympathize more and more 


260 


THE LAMARKS. 


with her loss. Do you know I see you, more and 
more, in this dear girl — the same light thoughts of 
love through all her life till now — fearfulness in trust- 
ing herself to settle down — pride in the thought of 
marrying some man already distinguished — and yet 
a shrinking from marrying a man advanced in years 
— too much principle to marry for wealth or position 
without loving truly. She has never seen her ideal, 
except in this man ; and he only a poor parson ! 

Her pride has rebelled against settling down for 
life with him as a poor parson’s wife ; and so she de- 
termined never to admit her love for him without 
thoroughly testing it. This has been carried quite too 
far, and she feels it bitterly now. You may thank 
my impetuous ardor that you were not permitted to 
try your willful ways on me when I said now or 
never ! My sweetheart knew there was no patience 
to brook coquettish delay — thus I pushed my suit, 
and thus I became your 

Jean. 


CXXIV. 

MADAME BERENGER TO JEANNETTE. 

Naples, April 2bfh, 

Another note from Dr. Berenger, my dear Niece 
I desire to enclose it to you myself, not having written 
for so long a time. 

1 have been shocked and grieved at this singular 
turn in Theresa’s prospects. She has had some brill- 
iant opportunities since she came abroad, and doubt- 
less has not wanted for eligible offers at home. I do 


THE LAMARKS. 


261 


not tliiuk her lovers here can accuse her of dissimula- 
tion. She has a frank, bright way of forbidding 
their hopes, and yet always seemed interested in them, 
and was so interesting and fascinating that they did 
indulge hopes of winning her at last, in spite of her 
oft-repeated asseverations to the contrary. I did hope 
so myself, and am woefully disappointed. I would 
have given my full consent to any one of half a dozen 
splendid men here, who would have kept her near 
me. The thought of her returning to her quiet home 
life, fitted as she is to be the center of the most brill- 
iant society of the continent, chagrins me, I will con- 
fess, and as it is, that I can not regret the unhappy 
termination of this romance. 

She will be free, after you and Grace are married, 
to bring Madeline to France to finish her education, 
and will erelong forget this grief. Some phases of her 
character I can understand. I can fancy myself liv- 
ing my young days over again in her. There are 
other things about her that I do not comprehend — 
this deep, almost unfathomable religious sentiment, 
must have been developed by her intercourse with this 
man, who seems to have won her whole heart. 

Dear Grace was the happiest creature you ever saw 
until this terrible news came. Theresa never seems 
to be out of her thoughts. She is devoted to Mr. 
Windemer, as he is to her. He has a generous, whole- 
hearted nature that I can but admire ; is very culti- 
vated, and distinguished as an artist, yet I can but 
wish that he was more elegant and polished in his 
manners. 

There is a certain polish that Americans generally 


262 


THE LAMARKS. 


lack, in my opinion. I have never seen an American 
with the elegant manners of a Frenchman. Theresa 
says I lay too much stress upon the outward man. 
Perhaps I do ; but with all her feigned indifference, I 
can see that a good deal of the same sort of fastid- 
iousness exists in her own nature. A very sensible, 
matter-of-fact education has doubtless made her real- 
ize more fully than I ever shall that the heart is the 
first thing to be looked at, the mind next in impor- 
tance, and the external man as insignificant in com- 
parison. 

I can recognize all this as logically true. My reason 
assents to it, but we have natural tastes — they demand 
expression, and seem entitled to gratification. Prob- 
ably it is true that the more religious faith pervades 
society, the less stress people will lay upon the things 
of this world ; for if there is a spiritual world about 
us where all merely human distinctions are entirely 
excluded, where each human soul takes its place ac- 
cording to its own inherent worthiness, as God sees it, 
‘‘with whom there is no respect of persons,” then 
doubtless the sooner we try to look upon even the 
lowest wretches about us as we might conceive God 
would look upon them, the sooner we should begin to 
feel that in His sight they might be worthier than 
ourselves. This idea, which Theresa has forcibly pre- 
sented more than once, if carried out in the world, 
would turn prevailing ideas upside down, and per- 
haps begin to right things generally ; but I can not 
quite get it through my brain, and do not think much 
headway will be made in it in my generation, nor in 
many to come. 


THE LAMARKS. 


263 


We do not talk of any plans until they return 
from Sicily. I think they will come within a few 
days, then we will do as poor Theresa desires. 

Remember me to others of your household, and 
believe me, ever affectionately, your Aunt, 

Theresa Berenger. 

cxxv. 

GRACE TO JEANNETTE. 

Naples, April 29th. 

Oh, Sister ! Dear, darling Sister ! Mr. Lacy is 
living 1 What hopes and fears have racked us these 
many days ! Why are we so doubting and so fearful 
when we have prayed ? 

They have found him ill near Palermo ! The let- 
ter I send tells. It has just come from Uncle Jean. 
Are you not thankful ? I do not know how to ex- 
press my joy. We shall hear more soon. I can not 
delay to write more. Love to every body. Spread 
the good news. He lives ! He lives ! 

Your thrice-happy 

Grace. 


CXXVI. 

DR. TO MADAME BERENGER. 

Palermo, April 27, 18 — . 

Dearest Wife : 

Found! Found at last! What will not woman’s 
love and perseverance do ? In the monastery of the 
Benedictines, on the coast near this city, yet too 


264 


THE LAMARKS. 


weak to sit up longer than a few hours, we have 
found Theresa’s lover. His clerical habit had led the 
peasantry who found him to carry him there. He 
had been washed back and forth by the waves, thrown, 
as it were, again and again, from the sea upon the 
land, until quite unconscious he lay stranded where 
they found him, as they thought, dead. The kind 
and ready care the monks had bestowed upon him 
had restored him to life. 

We inquired at the gate if any shipwrecked stranger 
was there. They answered yes. I asked if we might 
see him ? The porter could not tell, but a monk 
came at his call, and in answer to my queries, said 
the stranger was English, tall, spare, and fair. Theresa 
laid her hand upon my arm, saying, ‘‘ Ask no more. 
I ean not bear it. May we see him ? ” He led the 
way along the corridor, she leaning upon my arm. 
He bade us enter an half-open door. Theresa hesi- 
tated, as if to gather strength for disappointment, a 
glance within, and the next moment sprang across 
the narrow cell and fell upon her knees beside the 
cot. I knew he was found, and with the monk hur- 
ried away. An hour later, hearing my voice, she 
came into the hall. ‘‘Forgive me, dear Uncle, for 
running from you in my eager joy.” “ It is my joy, 
too, dear girl,” I said, returning her embrace. She 
led me within. “Mr. Lacy, this is my good Uncle 
Jean. But for his kindness I never should have found 
you.” 

He thanked me cordially. He looked saintly, al- 
most radiant — too pale and pure for earth. I do not 
wonder that Theresa thought Grace would be a fitter 


THE LAMARKS. 


265 


wife for him than she could ever he. She looked like 
he does now when she was so ill. It is strange that 
nature seems to draw these different temperaments to- 
gether, with an irresistible attraction in love, it may 
be, for a great physical good, as I have sometimes 
realized. 

Rejoice with us, as I know you will, and pity the 
loneliness of your 

Jean. 


CXXVII. 

HR. TO MADAME BERENGER. 

Palermo, May 4, 18 — . 

Dearest Wife : 

I am coming home alone ! Are you amazed ? 
Theresa has convinced me. A clerical friend of Mr. 
Lacy is here. To-morrow I will give away the bride ! 
“ Dear Uncle Jean,” she said, “ he needs my care. I 
will never, never leave him. I have kept you now 
too long. Too long, aye, almost unto death, I have 
kept him waiting for me — now I will be his wife ! ” 
Our invalid has already been removed to comfortable 
lodgings elsewhere. Theresa could not, of course, at- 
tend him in the monastery. I will return to you 
within a few days, leaving them to follow, when Mr. 
Lacy is well enough to travel. 

It is a wonderful bit of romance. I tell you, wife, 
I begin to think with you, that there is more in their 
philosophy than we have ever dreamed of — this faith 
in the Unseen. I have thought, in time past, that it 
was childish and irreverent to think that the Omni- 


266 


THE LAMARKS. 


potent Creator of all worlds would condescend to 
look upon the little affairs of this earth, or interpose 
in the doings of human creatures ; and the repulsive 
old Jewish idea that God is a great, exaggerated man, 
with eyes, and ears, and hands, and feet, and a voice, 
made me turn away from such crude, religious teach- 
ings, to what I conceived to be the loftier conceptions 
of my own mind. 

It is impossible to be with Theresa Lamark, and 
not be set thinking. She said to me, not long ago, 
“Uncle Jean, we are told that ‘Abraham believed in 
God, and it was counted to him for righteousness. If 
you only believed in God ! You tell me that you do 
believe in an intellegent ‘First Cause V and that I 
may call it God, if I choose. Now, will you explain 
to me some time, your idea of this Creator or First 
Cause f ” And then she left me with this big thought 
working in my brain, until we should meet again at 
night. I do not think I moved for full two hours. 

What do we professed thinkers think of it ? That 
it acted on matter from the earliest conceivable be- 
ginning of things, giving it an impulse, producing in 
itself the capabilities that have operated throughout 
the past — that are operating now, and will continue to 
operate in the future in the production here of vis- 
ible results? But did this “ First Cause” cease to 
act, when it imparted this intelligent impulse to mat- 
ter ? Did it pass into other areas of space, or other sys- 
tems, to operate in other spheres or volumes of mat- 
ter ? Is it an ever-present, living energy ? And, if 
so, must it not be present in every existing atom of 
matter that enters into form or life ? 


THE LAMARKS. 


267 


My brain grew weary in a futile effort to grasp an 
impossible idea, but, as I turned from point to point, 
I felt that we, who are so accustomed to vaunt our- 
selves upon the power of the human reason in solving 
the mysteries of being, are, at best, very indefinite 
and finite — our conclusions vague and often incon- 
sistent — and I have been forced to feel something of 
humility in the fruitless effort of my mind to form 
and express a satisfactory conception of this Power I 
had been reasoning about all my life. 

At night Theresa sat painfully silent, after one of 
our keenest disappontments in our recent search ; 
she seemed to have quite forgotten the remark she 
had made in our conversation in the morning, which 
had been in my thoughts all day long. I diverted 
her from her discouragement, as I always could suc- 
cessfully by telling her not to forget her faith, now, 
when she so much needed its consolation. She felt 
the reproach. ‘‘ Blame me, dear Uncle, if you will,” 
she said. ‘‘I deserve the worst that may befall me, 
for my weakness and folly ; but do not lay the re- 
proach upon the precious faith that is perfect, if we 
could receive it perfectly, as the Master has taught us 
how. Dear Uncle Jean, you must teach me to- 
night, I am too weary to think. Tell me your con- 
ception of your ‘ First Cause’ — your God.” 

I tried to express myself grandly and clearly, but 
I sensibly felt that I was vague, if not insincere, and 
relieved, when I had said enough to talk of this and 
that, striving to screen my strangely vacillating 
thoughts, until I roused her to talk herself upon her 
favorite theme. 


268 


THE LAMARKS. 


I never felt before how unjust we are to these 
religionists— how merely human our own conceptions 
are, and how ignorant we are of the full scope of 
their exalted idea. This wonderful girl, not learned 
nor wise, save in the humility and fervor of faith, 
spoke thoughts to me that seemed almost the voice of 
inspiration. ‘‘This Power,” she said, “which you 
call the First Cause, is to me the ever-living, eternal 
Creator of all things, visible and invisible — not only 
the ‘ First Cause,’ but the always perpetually recur- 
ring cause of every form of life — yea, even the Life 
itself — continually acting in all vital phenomena. 
What we call the Physical Universe, is but the re- 
flection of the Spiritual Kealm. It is the antecedent 
THOUGHT, which is the true reality, from which all 
else emanates — the only life from which all life pro- 
ceeds. This spiritual force — Omnipotence — is the 
unintermitting, infinite Intelligence, the only mind 
from which mind originates, embracing every atom 
in the universe of matter — in a word, the ever- 
living God ! ” 

I scarcely know whether I can make you under- 
stand, but she made her statement clear to me, though 
I would not admit myself convinced. 

“Uncle Jean,” she said at last, “ you do not be- 
lieve His Word, but you do believe in the ivoi'ks of 
God. Now, I believe that the time had come, as 
that word relates, some four thousand years ago, if 
you please, when one people of the Oriental world 
was capable of learning something of this ‘ First 
Cause’ you believe in, which I call God — the only 
Life — and they were taught of it in a peculiar way ; 


THE LAMARKS. 


269 


doubtless the only way they were capable of learning 
it. Through them then, and in after times, other 
people came to learn of it, too. Little by little the 
world has learned more and more. 

In the fullness of time, a Spiritual Emanation from 
God himself took the visible form of man upon earth 
to reveal man to himself, as an expression of God. 
The Divine Life, thus revealed as the very life of 
man, proved man to be indeed the Son of God. 

Through this revelation of man’s True Being as one 
with The Father, the race is being brought from 
ignorance to the knowledge of Truth — from darkness 
to that Light, which is Life everlasting ! 

‘‘ All these truths of science that you so love, are 
God’s truths, too. The world is in too great haste to 
reconcile truths not yet fully understood. There will 
be time enough for that in the centuries to come. 
‘ The Unknown God, whom ye ignorantly worship. 
Him declare I unto you.’ 

Uncle Jean, God is Infinite — we are finite — and 
it follows that we can but imperfectly comprehend 
His word or works. But we are his children, and 
partaking of his Life, we can learn of Him more and 
more, if we will, through the Christ he has sent as a 
Mediator. 

To the Infinite there is nothing great or small. 
The tiniest insect of an hour, ‘ fluttering during its 
transient existence in an atmosphere of perfume,’ is 
not small to the Infinite, nor is the vastest planet 
great. We can scarcely comprehend, but we can feel 
that this is so. Then, what reason is there in the 
philosophic scorn, that scouts the possibility of the 


270 


THE LAMARRS. 


Great Creator condescending to the small things of 
this little world ? 

* To Him, no high, no low, no great, no small. 

He fills, He bounds, connects and equals all/ 

“Is it not rather a nobler conception that this In- 
finite Creator is in literal truth omnipresent, omnis- 
cient, omnipotent.” 

Thought after thought, in this same strain, flashed 
forth from the brilliant brain of this gifted woman, 
until I found myself no longer disputing, but only 
listening. 

I wish I could transcribe her exalted conceptions 
and her pure diction. Her convictions seem to be as 
thorough, as her faith is clear and inflexible. You 
said to me, some weeks ago, dear wife, that some new 
light there may be — I might almost add, must be — in 
this thought of God, as the Only Lifef and yet 
some sort of mental pride forbids me to admit any 
thing, without the mind of man, greater than that 
which comes from within — nay, not any thing that 
comes “from above,” — and yet if God is the “only 
life,” it does seem presumptuous, as it never did before. 

Once Theresa said, “ Would you not think it a 
greater glory of the human mind that it is capable of 
being inspired by, and giving expression to a Divine 
thought, than that it should originate even the high- 
est merely finite idea ? ” 

We will learn of these things together, dear wife, 
by and by. It will be a glorious, an inexhaustible 
field for investigation. 

It is long past midnight, but I am ever wont to ex- 


THE LAMARKS. 


271 


press my inmost thoughts to my other sdf, dearest 
by far. I always clarify my own thoughts in thus 
seeking to give them accurate expression to you. I 
am sure you will see all this more clearly than I 
have been able to express it. 

In my longings for you I have thus transcribed my 
thoughts, reluctant to seek my lonely couch. Would 
that I could enfold you to my heart this night. 

Devotedly, your 
Jean. 


CXXVIII. 

GRACE TO JEANNETTE. 

Naples, May 7 tli , 

Theresa is married ! Dearest Sister, I am so glad 
and so sorry, but most glad, after all. Aunt Theresa 
is not ; she seems grieved that she is to be tied down 
for life as a country parson’s wife. To think of dear 
Tesa being all alone — none of us with her at such a 
time — no bridal raiment, which would have befitted 
her so well — and we had hoped all to be wedded in 
our home chapel. Ah, me, we know we can not have 
our own way in all things ! Let us be thankful that 
it has turned out so well. We have such a glori- 
ous letter from Uncle Jean. 

Mr. Windemer joins me in dearest love to you all. 

Ever, your loving, 

Grace. 


272 


THE LAMARKS. 


CXXTX. 

THERESA TO GRACE. 

Palermo, May 5, 18—. 

Darling Grace: 

I can breathe and think once more, and am as 
happy as I was miserable when I parted from you. I 
may be here for some days yet. My beloved has 
yet some weeks of leave, and we will enjoy a part of 
them here in lovely, wonderful Sicily. Then, as he 
gains strength, we will see some things in Italy on our 
homeward route. 

I would advise you to go at once to Sister Janet — 
you and she can make all needful preparations for 
your bridals. You had better go to Paris for a few 
days, and from there home. You will readily find 
friends going that way. We will come in time — a 
quiet married pair — that your dear pastor may per- 
form the ceremony in the little chapel, as you and 
J anet wished. 

Talk with Aunty, and when you have determined 
every thing, let me know. Mr. Lacy sends you a 
tender greeting, and bids me say he rejoices in your 
happiness, and in the bright future that seems to 
await you. My love to Aunty. Tell her I shall 
never be able to thank Uncle Jean enough for the 
great service he has rendered me. 

Ever, darling, your fond Sister, 

Theresa. 


THE LAM ARKS. 


273 


cxxx. 

DR. TO MADAME BERENGER. 

Palermo, May 6th. 

Dearest Wife : 

I have been sitting, as is my wont, I know not how 
long, alone upon the cool balcony on which the door 
of my chamber opens, looking out over the city be- 
neath me. The glorious landscape became invisible, 
as this little island turned further and further from 
the sun, though the ear still caught the sound of the 
surf breaking upon the near shore. 

Mr. Lacy and Theresa were with me in the early 
evening. I am more and more pleased with him. 
He is a deep thinker and very interesting. I can un- 
derstand some traits of Theresa’s character now, as I 
never could understand them before ; his very 
thoughts have been impressed upon her. We were 
talking, to-night, of human senses — how men trusted 
them. What a man felt, or saw, or heard, or tasted, 
or smelled, he could believe in, and yet each sense 
was only capable of apprehending its appropriate ob- 
ject. If a man were put upon this earth without any 
of these physical senses, the tangible forms of matter, 
objects of vision, sounds, perfumes, might all be here, 
just as they are, but he would have no power to ap- 
prehend them. He might disbelieve or doubt, as he 
would, what difference would his doubts make ? The 
facts would in no way be altered. And how im- 
possible it would be to make this senseless man com- 
18 


274 


THE LAMARKS. 


prehend any thing of these objects, were it possible 
in any way to communicate with him. Now, besides 
senses adapted to each kind of observation, there 
must be favorable conditions for the use of them. 
If it were not for the night, how little men had 
known of the heavenly bodies. If it were not 
for the sunlight, how little could be known of the 
beautiful colors of the landscape. There must be 
not only the objects, and the senses to apprehend 
them, but there must be such conditions as enable 
the existing senses to receive true impressions. 

We hear the voices of nature because God has 
given us the sense of hearing, but we can only hear 
such sounds as we are rightly situated to hear. 

‘‘These thoughts might be extended almost in- 
finitely, Mr. Lacy said. “ Would that I were able to 
point out to you the analogy between them, and our 
want of apprehension of spiritual things. The mill- 
ions of men upon this earth are cut off from all 
knowledge of Unseen Things, as the senseless man 
would be from a knowledge of the material world. 
If there are a fortunate few with faith to discern 
Spiritual Things, they have no means of making those 
who are utterly devoid of such knowledge, compre- 
hend what they may desire to teach ; but whether 
men have faith or not to believe in the existence of 
Unseen Things, which are alone declared to be eternal, 
can have no weight in altering the fact of their exist- 
ence. Faith is only necessary to apprehend them, as 
the faculty of vision is necessary to perceive objects of 
sight. Their existence may be, and I believe is, a matter 
of positive fact, that is entirely above and beyond any 


THE LAMARKS. 


275 


faith, or belief, or disbelief, just as the physical world 
is, or would be, a fact, although every human being 
was without senses to perceive physical objects. 

“ There seems to be such an immense preponderance 
of matter, that we can not wonder that materialism 
prevails to such an extent. We seem to be material 
existences in a material world. Our senses make us 
capable of observing all the wonderful and varied re- 
lations of this environment. It is scarcely strange 
that Avhat we call physical things seem to be all in all. 
This world-ward side of man has been all absorbing. 
You recognize nothing beside it, saving the intelli- 
gence of man — a mysterious something that distin- 
guishes mankind from the rest of the creation. You 
call it ‘ mind.’ That is a good name for it. It is 
Mind, or Spirit — the same thing — but you believe that 
it is born of matter. I believe that it is born of God, 
and is a manifestation of His own very Life. 

‘‘There is a spirit in man, and the inspiration of 
the Almighty giveth him understanding. This is the 
Godward side of man. As Dr. Bushnell says, ‘ This 
it is that gives him such pre-eminence over the rest of 
God’s creatures. We are related constitutionally to 
Him, as plants are to the sun, or living beings to the 
air we breathe.’ Nay, more nearly, as branches to 
the vine, partake of His own real Life. Man is 
Spirit. It is this which constitutes his true greatness, 
capacity for God, because born of God, ‘ to entertain 
in his own bosom the Eternal Spirit ; to be thus gifted 
with understanding, ennobled in impulse, raised in 
power, and all this without any retrenchment of his 


276 


THE LAMARKS. 


personal freedom, })ut so as to intensify his proper in- 
dividuality. Just as it is the distinction of a crystal, 
that it is transparent, able to let the light into and 
through its close, flinty structure, without being at 
all more or less a crystal, so it is the grand distinction 
of humanity, that it is made permeable by the Divine 
Nature, to be irradiated with it, through and through, 
through the whole mass of its substance, as the crystal 
with light,’ until he reaches that perfect state where 
death is swallowed up of Life, and this mortal puts on 
Immortality — his whole being spiritualized — filled 
with all the fullness of God — the temple of His In- 
finite Spirit, energized and filled with His glory in 
every faculty and feeling. 

‘‘ ‘ Know ye not that ye are the Temple of the Holy 
Ghost?’ The embodiment of the Life itself — a 
living branch of the Living Vine. Even as to the 
manner in which this Divine power works, man can 
know something — for Life in its working power is the 
Law of his being. Thus in learning to know himself 
man learns to know God. And in learning to know 
God, fulfills the wisdom of the wisest of the ancients 
in bidding him ^ know thyself.’ Whenever man 
learns this wisdom, knowing himself as a very son of 
God, he knows that he has dominion over all others 
of God’s creatures. Humble, almost insignificant, as 
he seems to be, in the vast seen universe, where the 
obedient worlds course in their mighty rounds, doing 
His will, filling even immensity with their stupendu- 
ous frames of order, they have nothing in fellowship 
with their Creator, as has man. His own offspring by 
a Living generation ; and can not, therefore, do what 


THE LAMARKS. 


277 


the humblest soul is able to do, live in conscious com- 
munion with God. They can be built up or dissolved 
by His will, but they are not high enough in quality 
to be inspired by Him. Spirit only can be inspired.” 

Self-conscious freedom of spirit, as a birth of the 
Divine, is a far higher and more glorious conception 
of man than we have ever had. Dearest wife, this 
is a beautiful, grand, ennobling idea — if it be true. 
This is indeed the highest of all distinctions — superior 
to morality, to reason, to every other power or faculty 
of human nature. Poets and orators have in all ages 
invoked this Divine inspiration. Our friend says it is 
not a mere rhetorical flourish, but a noble confirmation 
of the great Truth, that man was made in the image 
and likeness of God, a partaker of His Spirit. There 
is no exclusiveness of the religionists here. Every 
human soul shares this capability — as a partaker of 
Life, as an emanation of Mind. Here it is, indeed, 
that humanity culminates and reaches the summit of 
its dignity. 

Ah, to believe this for ourselves ! This must be 
the true significance of faith. No wonder its hum- 
blest possessor becomes so confident and strong when 
adversities come, and in the very face of death itself. 
To Life, or the offspring of Life, there can be no 
death, but only higher births of Life. Do you re- 
member, Grace said, when so ill, “I shall not die, 
but live ! I know that my Redeemer lives, and He 
has said, because I live ye shall live also.” This is 
what has given these young creatures such assurance. 
They have not only felt some mysterious strength, or 


278 


THE LAMARKS. 


light, or power within, that has made them indiffer- 
ent to the things of this world, but the very motions 
of a recognized Divine Life, as their very own. One 
Spirit, and not only one Spirit, but one Body ! That 
is what their communion service means to them. 
‘‘ Body and soul,” it says, “preserved unto everlast- 
ing Life.” 

Wife, I want it — this consciousness of the Divine 
within. To think of such glory for the denizens of 
earth existing unrecognized through almost a lifetime, 
as earth reckons life, and all through Life. There ! 
It must be true, for have not all Life ? Who would or 
could refuse to recognize it, living and teaching us 
within, through our own consciousness f As I write 
the words, I seem to feel the very motions of Life in 
a conscious, heart-swelling joy, such as I never felt 
before. Oh, if you were only here to share it ! But 
you will— do — you have felt these warm, glow- 
ing pulses of Love within, through all the past. 

Good night. Perhaps, before this reaches you, you 
will see your 

Jean. 

CXXXI. 

GRACE TO THERESA. 

Naples, May 7th. 

Dear Dear Sister Tesa : 

If I could only have my arms around your neck 
and tell you how grateful and happy I am in your 
restoration to each other! Now I can enjoy to the full 
my own loving and being beloved, which I could not 
do when I knew you were so wretched. 


THE LAMARKS. 


279 


I have talked with Aunt Theresa, and we have de- 
cided that it will be best for her and Uncle Jean to 
go to Paris with me. I will get what I need, with her 
advice, and will then find friends with whom to return 
to England. I know you and Mr. Lacy will be satis- 
fied fully with this plan, and will enjoy beyond ex- 
pression your return home alone — with time for some 
sight-seeing on the way. Mr. Windemer will accom- 
pany me. Sister will be glad to see him, I know ; then 
he will leave me with her to make some final arrange- 
ments in London for his departure for America. 

Sister and I will have every thing in readiness for 
you, and dear dear Mr. Lacy will marry us both after 
all ! I am almost impatient, the thought of our all 
standing about the dear home altar is so sweet — and 
you, dear, beautiful Tesa, so staid and matronly, the 
pastor’s wife ! 

I send you with this every thing you have here, with 
all letters received since you left us ; how astonished 
your friends are, and will be at your marriage. 

Love to my own dear Brother — how I have always 
wanted one, tell him he is my beau-ideal of a Brother. 
What happy times dear Blueberry will see when we 
are all there together. 

Ever your loving, grateful 
Grace. 


CXXXII. 


THERESA TO MADAME BERENGER. 


Palermo, May 


Dearest Aunty : 

I have been disappointed in not hearing from you. 


280 


THE LAMARRS. 


and having waited long enough to conclude that 
you do not mean to congratulate me, I write to 
you. I know you are disappointed in me ; you are 
sorry that I have married Mr. Lacy. You are too kind 
to tell me that, and so have not written a word. I am 
not vexed with you — not a bit— not even hurt. I 
like you to treat me fairly and frankly. I know that 
you love me, and that your pride in me, and in your 
name, too — now. Aunty, you need not deny it — made 
you want me to make a brilliant match. 

Poor Aunty, to be willing, much less to want me to 
give up one throb of the joy I feel now, for all the 
glitter and tinsel the world can show. I’ll tell you, 
Aunty dear, I have coveted riches, I have coveted 
position, and I have coveted many beautiful things in 
this world. Indeed, there was a time when I thought 
them indispensable to human happiness, for the love 
of the beautiful was born in me, bone of my bone, but 
there has been something deeper, and truer, and nobler 
in my nature, that never would let me sacrifice myself 
to any of these things — to any thing unworthy. I have 
probed my own heart to the core. I have loved Ed- 
ward Lacy for years, but I knew the weakness and 
folly of my pride, and I dared not trust myself to 
yield to my own love, lest I should be unhappy in 
the humble life I must lead, and to all his trials as 
a pastor, I feared I should add the crowning mis- 
fortune of a discontented wife. Grace was pure and 
gentle, free from my pride and ambition, I wanted 
her to be his wife. She loved him in her childish way, 
and I knew he almost venerated her loveliness and in- 
nocence. I thought I knew how it ought to be, better 


THE LAMARKS. 


281 


than even our Father in Heaven. I wanted my way, 
but He was too good to me to let me have it. 

The man I loved was too noble to be false to Grace, 
to me, or to himself ; he never for a moment yielded 
to my waywardness, and left his home and a devoted 
charge rather than compromise any one by the false 
position in which I had placed him. I knew all this, 
although I never admitted it even to him. The quiet 
life I had led made me long unduly for the charms 
of elegant and fashionable society. You know how 
happy I was, dear Aunty, in Paris, in Provence, and 
in Italy. My ideality was satisfied as far as such 
pleasures could satisfy it ; I drank of the cup I had 
thirsted for all my life, and found it pleasant to the 
taste, but not soul-satisfying. Every day I felt more 
deeply the truth that nothing less than Divine joys 
can fill the heart that God has made capable of en- 
joying Himself His gifts are alike to all, pure and 
free to every human being as the sunlight and the 
air. Social distinctions and the conventionalities of 
life are merely human, and tend to degrade rather than 
elevate the soul. In the midst of pleasures it is hard 
to keep the heart from being captivated — it is next 
to impossible to view these things as indifferent ; the 
pleasant customs of fashion will fetter one hopelessly 
at last, and it will be a bitter bondage although the 
links are gold or jewels. So I felt more and more, 
bearing in my bosom as I did, this talisman of faith 
and love, to keep me from enchantment, how much 
nobler and purer, and better in God’s sight the life 
had been which was apart. God had given me His 
best gift — faith — with all my willful folly I loved my 


282 


THE LAMARKS. 


Heavenly Master above every earthly thing, and I 
loved and honored more and more the patient, culti- 
vated, generous, devoted man, who was spending his 
whole life in that Master s service. There is not a man 
in all France or Italy — not the wealthiest or most bril- 
liant — that you would rejoice to see me wedded to, who 
could be half as worthy of my love or who could make 
me half as happy as I am this day. 

J list when I had learned all this, and was ready to 
receive my much enduring lover kindly — you know 
the fearful shock that came. God knew I needed 
that lesson, that awful lesson, to convince me how un- 
speakably dear this friend was to my heart. Thank 
God we have both out-ridden the storm, and I am the 
happiest and mean to be the best wife in Christendom, 
and can not even be sorry that I have disappointed 
my ambitious and loving Aunty. ‘‘When I marry, 
I marry primarily for myself,” as Coelebs said. How 
could you have helped me, good Aunty, if any of the 
brilliant men you coveted for me, had made me 
wretched ? Not a jot. I should just have had to bear 
my cross alone, as He gave me patience ; there would 
have been no earthly help. You ought to know me 
well enough, to know that the man I do love with my 
whole heart must be a worthy man. You have some 
faith in me, and ought to be willing to trust my good 
sense, if you can not trust the Gracious Power that has 
led me all my life, to prove me to myself — and show 
me where my best and happiest hopes of usefulness 
and all good things most surely are to be fulfilled. 

I fear it would be in vain to picture to you the 
beautiful life we shall lead. To me it seems like en- 


THE LAM ARKS. 


283 


joying in a spiritual sense all the charms of nature : 
green fields brightened with ever blooming flowers ; 
running streams of crystal vvaters, with the cool deep 
shade of forests here and there; all animate with 
nature’s loveliest life : and over all the bright sunshine 
streaming through the blue dome above, with great 
white silver-edged clouds drifting across it. All life, 
motion, beauty and joy, and yet all calm and peaceful 
and pure. Contrast it with the busy, restless whirl 
of the pent up city life where you would like to see 
me glitter, in the endless turmoil. 

No — dearest Aunty — it would not satisfy or make 
me happy, but quite the reverse, for I know the Bet- 
ter Way. You do not know nor love the dear Church 
as I do, as we do. You remember, perhaps, that it 
is called The Bride of Christ. To serve the Bride- 
groom, till He comes, or takes us to Himself, in serv- 
ing His cherished Bride in these last, of the sor- 
rowful days down here, is pure and unspeakable joy, 
that only those can know who have entered upon such 
service. 

You will soon awaken to the blessed consciousness, 
that you are God’s own dear child, partaker of His 
Life, Aunty darling ; and so will dear Uncle Jean. I 
believe he feels it now, but the time will come when 
he will know it, and you will both come into the hap- 
piest and best place on all this earth — into the Pre- 
pared Place — the dear, beautiful, perfect Church — 
though to human sense, seemingly deformed by human 
error — but it can not really be — for it is His own, 
and like Himself, without spot or blemish. 

When you know its, you will love us, I am sure, 


284 


THE LAMARRS. 


but whether you do or not, we shall ever love you 
tenderly, and own beloved Uncle Jean, to whom 
we owe more than our hearts or lips, or pen can ever 
express. 

Farewell, my Aunty; we shall see you, D. v., in 
Paris, unless you write that you have returned to the 
Chateau, and will expect you to go with us to Blueberry 
Hall, that Uncle Jean may give away the brides ; and 
may you find all things so satisfying that you will 
never want to leave us — as I am sure we shall never 
want you to. 

But, whether all these beautiful hopes come to pass 
or not — you never will, I am sure, regret that you 
have found and known and loved your Namesake, 
giving her a heart full of love for you, and a store of 
beautiful memories that can never fade away — nor 
that she has made this choice — to be — 

Theresa Lamarr Lacy. 

I send with this. Aunty dear, Violet Haugh ton’s 
letter, to my precious Grace, with one from Mr. 
Pinkerton. Tell her I have not written her be- 
cause I knew that she knows all better than I 
could tell her. She will be happy at the beautiful 
denouement of my sweet friend’s affair, and glad 
to know her good guardian is rewarded for his un- 
selfish love, in the happiness he has at last found in 
having loving children upon whom to bestow his large 
fortune — and better still, the wealth of love of his great 
true heart. 


Fondly, T. L. L. 


THE LAMARKS. 


285 


CXXXIIL 

VIOLET TO THERESA. 

Pinkerton Place, Ajivil SiHJi, 

Dear Precious Theresa : 

I have not written to you since my return home — 
because I have not needed you, perhaps — and only 
realize now, as I take up my pen, how selfishly I have 
ever clung to you. When I seemed all at sea, not 
knowing who to look to for strength and counsel, I 
have come to you with all my weakness to get your 
strength in return. Your letter to Mr. Pinkerton, 
inclosing mine, proved a blessing, all things indeed 
seem to work together for good to those who are de- 
termined to do the right, let come what will. You 
have heard from him — as he told me he had written 
you. It is impossible for me to express the change 
that seems to have come over me, since my return from 
London — but I must tell you what I can. Who do you 
think I found here ? The long lost son and nephew, 
William Pinkerton Genau — Aunty Genau’s son ! and 
my own brother Will — come all the way from India — 
where they met after Will Genau^s release from the 
interior, where he was taken after his shipwreck on the 
coast somewhere, I can’t tell you where. I am sure 
there never was a happier surprise for any child on 
earth than dear, blessed Mr. Pinkerton had for me 
when he came, on receipt of your letters, taking me 
home. It would have been enough of joy to me to 


286 


THE LAMARKS. 


have found Will Haughton there ! Oh, Theresa, he 
is so good and strong — how I do love my own only 
brother — but think of Aunty Genau’s joy in her son, 
so long ago given up for lost — come to her again, his 
own devoted mother, and to the uncle who had 
been a father to him, as he has been to me. They 
were even happier in his coming than I was in my 
Will's ! And now, Theresa dear, the best is not told 
yet. Will, my brother, has gone to claim his bride — 
and I — I almost blush to tell it, for I fear you will 
think me fickle — but dear Theresa, he is every inch 
a man ; as kind and gentle as ever Edward Lisle was 
to me through all my childhood ; as brave and manly 
and true as ever my OAvn dear brother Will was and 
is — and as polished and cultivated as our much ad- 
mired and admirable friend De Montaine — and at 
first sight he actually fell in love with me, your 
meek little Violet ! Impossible as it seems to her — too 
good to be true — it is true ; and I love him as I never 
loved any man on earth before — indeed I don’t believe 
I knew what marrying love” was, until this grand 
fellow came home from sea ; always a hero in my 
eyes, since first I came beneath this roof. In the 
month of June our bridal is to be — can’t you be here? 
I should not feel as though I could be quite happy 
without you. The only thing that could make my 
cup run over, would be to have you with us, and 
Will wants you as much as I do, for only your heroic 
help in my times of need, and the trust that you have 
somehow given me, could have brought all this about ; 
and I promise you, dear, to grow in this Love and 
knowledge of All Good things, and shall always live 


THE LAMAEKS, 


287 


right here with these dear, devoted foster parents, 
giving them love for love to the last. 

Ever, lovingly yours, 

Violet. 


CXXXIV. 

MPw. PINKERTON TO THERESA. 

Pinkerton Place, April 26th, 
Miss Theresa La mark : 

My dear friend, you have placed me under ever 
accumulating obligations by your faithful frankness 
with me, and sound counsel to my dear young ward. 
Nothing could have been more judicious than just 
sending me her letters, which told the whole story of 
her troubles and of her friends’ culpable insincerity, 
giving me very valuable information. It was pre- 
cisely what I ought to have known. I promptly 
went for her and relieved her from her uncomfortable 
and unpropitious associations. She has had enough 
of London for the rest of her life, something we are 
most grateful for. 

You must imagine her surprise and delight to find 
her brother here, with my sister’s son, arrived to- 
gether from India to surprise us all ; and I will, I am 
sure, surprise you, in telling you that they have fallen 
deeply in love with each other — and are soon to be 
married, and to live with my sister and myself. What 
a happy home it will be ! So long childless, now with 
this noble son, whose restless longings for adventure 
have been satisfied by sad experience — and much suf- 
fering on land and sea — and lovely daughter to bless 
our declining years ; what more could we ask? 


288 


THE LAMAEKS. 


I hope you will come to us upon your return to 
England, and share this joy with us all — especially 
with your ever grateful friend, 

Wm. Pinkerton. 


cxxxv. 

THERESA TO JEANNETTE. 

Palermo, May 10th, 

Dearest Janet : 

As I write that date, how vividly the wonderful 
transitions of the year, now past, come up before me ! 
Perhaps you do not remember it, but it is the date of 
the very first letter I wrote you from Aunt Lisle’s ! 
Only one year ago ! Can it be possible ? And all 
this crowning experience in all our lives, yours, mine, 
and our dear Grace’s, crowded into these twelve months 
that have come and gone ! 

At last I can look upon the green earth and blue 
heavens with all longings satisfied ! It seemed years 
from the time I heard that Edward Lacy was lost un- 
til I found him — living ! Living ! I almost cry out 
with exulting joy at every thought of /iim, and un- 
wittingly the same expression comes to my lips, at 
every thought of myself; for this is Life — absolutely 
perfect satisfaction in the present, not regretting the 
past, nor caring for the future — Life — One Eternal — 
Xow ! He is living and I am his wife ! What peace 
is ours, none can ever know, except through like suf- 
fering. Never for one moment did I realize in my 
heedless waywardness, the grief I was causing him. 
Keenly have I suffered a thousand fold for it all, since 


THE LAMARKS. 


289 


the first fearful shock, that I had lost him forever 
from this mortal life, smote me to the very dust. 

It has done me good, for 1 have looked to Him Who 
doeth airthiugs well, and have learned enough to take 
my place joyfully, my whole being overfiowiug with 
gratitude, and nothing can ever cause a murmur, if 
we are spared to each other, and spared we shall be, 
for we are one in Life forever ! 

To share his work and his rest, to strive with him I 
love, to walk with God and to help others to grow in 
the knowledge and love of God and His dear Son — 
is it not a glorious, precious, perfect — I say it sol- 
emnly — an eternal joy ? 

The world has pulled heavily at my heart — there 
were traitors within bidding it come and take it cap- 
tive. You know it all, dear Janet. Still Love kept the 
mastery at the very worst. “ Neither shall any man 
pluck them out of my hand.” I had given myself 
to Him, and when I would have wandered off* He 
held me fast, many and many a time, through this 
thrice precious friend. To think that I must have 
this dreadful lesson at the last ! 

Dear Grace will be with you very soon. We will 
come when all things are in readiness, with Aunty and 
Uncle Jean, whom we shall win to the Fold. Will it 
not be beautiful, dearest J anet ? Then you can go 
your way with John, and Grace can cross the summer 
sea with Mr. Windemere, and I will live at dear old 
Blueberry with my heart’s treasure — we will care 
for Aunt and little Madeline, and all the dear people, 
who will receive our loving ministrations joyfully — 
19 


290 


THE LAMARRS. 


SO glad to have their dearly beloved pastor, Edward 
Lacy, at home agaiu. I love to write his name — he 
sends tenderest greetings to all — and mine. 

Fondly forever. 

Your Sister, 

Theresa Lamarr Lacy. 

SATISFFED ! 




[the end.] 


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